


Advent Prompt Fills

by dancinginthecenteroftheworld



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Cute, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Multi, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Burn, super twee small town au, the absolute fluffiest, this is where i live while the world is collapsing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinginthecenteroftheworld/pseuds/dancinginthecenteroftheworld
Summary: Series of prompt fills taking place over advent. All set in the small town AU begun in my November prompts. You don't have to have read those, but it wouldn't hurt.Cliff's notes: Brienne is a vet who absolutely DOES NOT have a crush on the obnoxious rich guy who came to buy kittens as a present for his nephew. Jaime is trying to create a perfect Hallmark holiday from his dysfunctional and broken family. Tyrion just wishes Jaime would get a girlfriend and stop bugging him, and also maybe is in love with the girl from the fabric store. Sansa volunteers at the animal shelter and is absolutely in love with Margaery from the yarn store. Shireen teaches elementary school and has an ill-advised crush on Rickon Stark who works for his uncle's landscaping company. Asha is having a fling with Val from the hardware store, who owns a lot of goats. Dany is the crazy reptile lady. Gilly owns a bakery and Ygritte works at a coffee shop and police officers Jon and Sam spend a lot of time at both places. Arya just wants the stupid new mechanic at Tobho Mott's to fix her stupid car and stop flexing his stupid biceps. Selwyn and Ned just want their children to be happy.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Asha Greyjoy/Val, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Shireen Baratheon/Rickon Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 651
Kudos: 388





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to December in adorable Westeros. The November prompt fills are interspersed with some of these, they did not all happen before the beginning of advent. Some day there will be a fic with everything expanded and in actual order, but today is not that day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne thinks it's too cold for her father's annual tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic does take place somewhere in the middle of "candle" from November - after Brienne has bought decorations, before she lights the first advent candle, as tonight is the first Sunday of advent.
> 
> Prompt: "But it's tradition!"

“But it’s tradition!” 

Brienne looks at her father’s face, the hurt expression in his eyes, and sighs.

“It was warmer on Tarth,” she tries. It comes out less assured than she’d like. “I like the tradition Dad, but it’s very cold.”

Selwyn hefts his axe over his shoulder and grins. “We’ll have to toughen up! Like real northerners.”

Brienne doesn’t think she’s toughening up terribly well. Thermal underwear and a good coat had carried her through October and most of November. But now she’s got thermal underwear on under her jeans, multiple shirts and a sweater, thick wool socks, one of those puffy coats that makes her look like a giant sleeping bag, plus hat and mittens and she’s still cold to her bones. 

Sansa says it’s the quality of her accessories but Brienne is starting to believe people born and raised in Westeros are just somehow impervious to winter.

“I’ve even shut down the restaurant for lunch today,” Selwyn says. Brienne winces. 

She’d rather assumed her father’s dream of opening a pizza place wouldn’t last, but apparently Westeros has been starving for a quick pizza and Italian food joint. Her father couldn’t be happier, putting his years of cooking as a hobby (and to feed a boat of hungry fisherman) to use and serving up anything interesting he can think of. The town is literally eating it up.

He’s even thinking of doing a traditional seven fishes dinner on Christmas Eve. 

“Fine,” Brienne says. Here dad is the one person who’s always been there for her, through the worst of everything, and now he’s uprooted his entire life to follow her as she chases her dreams. Dragging herself through a cold forest is probably the least she can do. 

She does insist they stop at Wildlings for coffee and her dad adds a visit to Seven Sisters for cinnamon buns. 

The tree farm is outside of town, part of the big state park that comes right up to the edge of Westeros. A friendly ranger with a nametag declaring him Benjen Stark — Brienne wonders briefly if he’s related to Sansa — directs them down a road to a dirt lot.

There are a lot of cars, especially considering how cold it is, but plenty of people are running around amongst the trees. 

Brienne lets her dad lead the way. Selwyn whistles as he goes, nodding and calling out greetings to customers he recognizes. 

Brienne doesn’t know how they’re related sometimes. Her father can make friends with anyone, quickly, while Brienne can know someone for years and still feel enormously awkward. 

She wonders if her mother was that way. 

“Ah,” Selwyn says, gazing at a pine. “This is a magnificent one.”

Brienne squints upward.

“Dad, it’s at least ten feet tall. I don’t think your ceilings are that high.” 

“Well, we’ll take a little off the trunk,” Selwyn argues. Brienne shakes her head.

“You’re not going to take _that_ much off,” she points out.

They continue that way for a while. Brienne’s dad seems drawn to trees too tall to fit in his house or so wide across the base they’d take up the entire living room. Brienne, meanwhile, has an affinity for misshapen and stunted trees that seem to be destined to be ignored by the crowd.

Her dad insists the tree be taller than both of them, which is not entirely outrageous, save for the fact that Brienne’s over six feet tall and her father is coming close to seven. 

They finally reach agreement on a tree, long after Brienne’s fingers and nose have gone numb. 

Brienne remembers the first time she was allowed to use the axe as she and her father take turns chopping at the trunk. Brienne must have been about 10, probably too young but already big and strong for her age. She’d been so proud of herself, until a boy from her class saw her and started laughing. By Monday the entire grade was calling her a lumberjack and asking if she was sure she was really a girl. 

Brienne still looks around to see if anyone is nearby before she take a swing at the trunk. 

The tree is heavy as they cart it back to the car and maneuver it up on the roof. It’s one time it’s good to be so freakishly tall, Brienne has to admit, watching other people struggle to load trees with the help of park rangers. There’s one petite woman who Brienne really hopes has someone at home, because the rangers load her tree but there’s no way she’s going to get it off alone. Not when her head doesn’t even come as tall as the roof of her SUV. 

It’s almost three before the tree is finished being set up in Selwyn’s living room, centered in front of the big front window. Brienne is almost running late to get to the shelter and check on the animals, since they don’t have full-time staff on Sunday but she still likes to make sure they’re okay. Sansa will meet her there, 

They’ll have to decorate later, sometime they’re both off, and Brienne knows her dad will make mulled cider and put on Christmas carols to try to get her into the spirit. 

Perhaps this year it will work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selwyn is about 6'8" in my head. 
> 
> Getting a tree off your car roof can be harder than it looks, especially if you're 5'2". I maybe have had to call a neighbor in a mild panic.


	2. December 2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany hasn't gotten too many customers yet, but at least one of them is very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Aren't you cold in that?"

Dany is pleased with how the shop is coming along. She isn’t stocking any animals, though she will probably bring in some fish and can obtain reptiles on request. Anyone looking for a cat or dog can be directed to the animal shelter. Small mammals and birds have her conflicted — they don’t get many at the shelter but Dany has never been comfortable with how breeders are, how often those poor creatures linger in pet store cages for their entire lives.

There’s already been a steady supply of customers. In part because Asha and Brienne, in addition to helping her select quality mammal supplies (and suggesting a section for small livestock feed), have agreed to recommend the store on their supply list for new adopters.

Still, it’s a new business and Dany finds the days can get dull. Especially when she doesn’t have research or the gnawing fear that she’s not doing enough, not writing enough, not publishing enough nipping at her heels.

Dany is grateful to leave the anxiety behind, but she also isn’t entirely sure how she’s supposed to be if it’s not there. 

Maybe she needs a hobby.

Other than her babies. She can’t really bring her reptiles to work, and they aren’t necessarily the most social of pets.

The bell on the door rings, and Dany straightens up, ready to give a bright smile and welcome to Dragon’s Egg, but the words don’t quite come out right.

“Aren’t you cold in that?” The pitch as she blurts out the question is embarrassingly high. Dany shivers in the cold gust of air from the door, despite the thick sweater she’s wearing. 

Westeros is definitely colder than the tropical air of Mereen. 

The man who entered looks at her like she might have gone insane, then down at the tank top he’s wearing with a pair of sweatpants and sneakers 

“I only had to go a few doors,” he offers, then pulls a crumpled up paper from a hidden pocket in the pants.

Men get pockets in _sweatpants_ , Dany can hardly find a pair of jeans with pockets big enough to store anything, life is so unfair.

“I’m getting a dog,” the man says. “From the shelter? They gave me this list and said I should come here.”

Dany mentally shelves the concept of wearing a tank top when it’s below freezing and tries to focus on helping her customer. Who is, she notices as she gets close, very tall and very muscled, his long dark hair pulled into a loose braid. 

He quirks an eyebrow at the bags of dog food still on a pallet where they were delivered. The smaller ones are shelved neatly, but Dany had underestimated how awkward a floppy, 50 pound bag of food would be to store and she hasn’t found anyone to hire for a quick help. Asha has promised her brother, once he gets done with this month’s round of court mandated community service.

Dany didn’t feel it was prudent to ask too many questions. 

“So you live nearby,” Dany says, as the man contemplates the row of food bowls. He’s strolling through the store like he has all the time in the world. 

“Huh?” He picks a large blue bowl and a matching, larger water bowl. 

“You said it was just a few doors down.” Dany pauses. “If you’re in the condos, you’ll need to walk the dog often, with no yard.”

“Oh, my gym.” The man is flipping through the collars now, frowning at them. “My house has plenty of yard.”

“Oh, good,” Dany says, somewhat nonsensically. 

The man is very good looking, even his dark beard (Dany usually hates beards) somehow working against his brown skin. It makes Dany think of polished metal, he’s almost glowing under the terrible fluorescent lights, she notices as he goes through the rest of the list, then stops at the food and selects one of the 50 pound bags and slings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing.

His muscles flex impressively, the tank top giving Dany an excellent view. 

“I could give you a hand with these,” he says, and Dany agrees before she can consider it’s probably not the best customer service. 

Within 20 minutes, the large food bags are stacked neatly on the shelves, the man hasn’t even a broken a sweat and Dany thinks she might need to go home and change her underwear. 

Dany gets his name — Drogo Khal — from his credit card as she rings him up. 

“We’re thinking of offering dog training classes,” she blurts out. She’s been thinking of no such thing. “I can get your number for our list, when they get started. If you’d like to be informed.”

Drogo gives an easy nod. His entire mode of being seems to be utterly relaxed, so entirely opposite from Dany’s jittery worries. 

He scrawls his name and number on the paper Dany manages to locate. 

“Or you can stop by the gym,” he says. “Can’t miss us.” 

Dany stares at the door after he leaves, another blast of cold air hitting her in the face. 

Now she has to find a dog trainer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Drogo really not cold or has he noticed Dany and is trying to show off his arms? A question for the ages.
> 
> Tomorrow's prompt: "I got you a present."


	3. December 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne isn't expecting a gift from anyone this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today! Prompt is "I got you a present."
> 
> Takes place the morning of the same day as "scarf" from November prompts.

“I got you a present!”

Brienne looks up from her paperwork, mind still half on the budget numbers for the animal shelter which are more dismal than she and Asha had thought. 

Apparently the Manderlys had been bankrolling a lot of the operation with their trust fund and savings, which is not a luxury Brienne and Asha have.

Sansa is bouncing on the balls of her feet in front of Brienne’s desk, a gift bag clutched in her hands.

“I know it’s early,” Sansa continues. “But I thought you could use it now.”

“Sansa, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Brienne flounders, feeling out of her depth. 

She can’t remember the last time she received a gift from anyone other than her father. 

“I know, but I wanted to.” Sansa pushes the gift bag towards Brienne. “It’s been so great working with you and Asha. I mean, I know Asha of course, but I really admire the work you’re doing here, and I’m so glad you moved to Westeros.”

Brienne can feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

It’s the sort of thing that feels like a joke, that probably should be a joke, but Sansa is so earnest and helpful that it can’t be.

Sansa is looking over at Brienne expectantly, so Brienne carefully pulls out the tissue paper and unwraps the gift inside.

It’s a hat and pair of mittens, in a shade of blue that’s pure and reminds Brienne of the ocean. She can tell, just from looking at them, that they’re warmer than the grey hat and cheap gloves she’s been wearing since winter started. 

“I didn’t have time to make them myself,” Sansa says, like that’s a failing. “But they’re good wool, they will be much warmer than what you have.” 

“Thank you,” Brienne says. She stares down again, not sure what to say. “I don’t —”

Sansa waves her off.

“I don’t expect anything. I know it’s hard to move to a new place, and not know anyone.”

Brienne dimly remembers Sansa telling her about spending a few years in the city, for university, before coming back home. 

There’s a lot Sansa didn’t say about that time, and Brienne thinks it didn’t go very well. 

“I appreciate it, but you don’t need to worry.” Brienne tries to look reassuring. “I’m used to being alone.”

That was the wrong thing to say, because Sansa looks devastated. 

“Any updates?” Brienne asks, in an attempt to turn the conversation back to work.

Sansa still looks wounded, but she follows the subject change.

“Snark and Grumpkin are ready to go in for their spay and neuter,” Sansa says. “They hit the two pound mark.” 

Brienne can’t stop the frown that crosses her face.

“I still don’t know about that,” she says.

“He already signed the paperwork,” Sansa reminds her.

“We have a no gift policy,” Brienne reminds her. “I never should have let myself be swayed by someone like him.”

“If it’s his home, it’s not really a gift.” Sansa has said this several times before, but Brienne has her doubts.

“Men like him think they can just get away with anything,” Brienne grumbles. “Just because someone is handsome and rich and smiles like … like a god, that doesn’t mean they can get what they want.”

“I thought he made a good case for taking care of them,” Sansa says. 

“That’s because he charmed you,” Brienne argues.

“He really didn’t.” Sansa crosses her arms. “I can assure you that even the most handsome man holds no interest for me.”

Being surrounded by lesbians has it’s good points — for some reason, they always seem to find Brienne less ugly than the rest of the world and treat her accordingly — but it can also be very frustrating. 

“I’m telling you, he’s after something,” Brienne says. “Just wait.”

“I will,” Sansa says, with a knowing look Brienne doesn’t trust on her face. “But I think it will be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Asha do not understand Brienne's reaction to Jaime but they know what it means better than Brienne has figured out at this point. 
> 
> Tomorrow's prompt: "What do you mean, you've never had a snowball fight?"


	4. December 4th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The first snow in December means one thing," Sansa tells Brienne. "Town snowball fight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "What do you mean, you've never had a snowball fight?"

Brienne barely has time to grab her coat and new hat and gloves (which are much warmer than her old pair) when Sansa drags her out from the shelter. 

“It’s the first December snow!” Sansa says, beaming as she tugs Brienne towards the town square.

It’s snowed several times already, so Brienne isn’t sure what is so special about it.

“It’s tradition,” Sansa says. “First snow of December means one thing — snowball fights.”

“I’m busy.” Brienne says. “Somebody needs to be at the shelter in case someone comes in.”

Sansa laughs. “Nobody will.”

Brienne can see why when they reach the square. It seems like the entire town has turned out, gathering in a massive mob. She sees her father and Pod, the counter boy he’s hired at Evenfall’s, the grumpy-lookng mechanic who fixed her car and even Father Meribald, his clerical collar peeking out from under his snow jacket.

It’s chaotic and Brienne already feels in over her head.

“I’ve never been part of a snowball fight,” she tells Sansa, who is using her elbows to get both of them closer to the center of the square.

Brienne must have been cursed by the worst timing, because as soon as the words leave her mouth, the man beside her turns.

“What do you mean, you’ve never had a snowball fight?” It’s the arrogant, handsome man who wanted Christmas kittens. Jaime. He looks like he’s never heard a more ridiculous thing in his life.

Brienne glares.

“I’m from Tarth, we don’t have snow,” she manages.

“Didn’t you go skiing or something?”

“No,” Brienne snaps. “We aren’t all raised with silver spoons in our mouths.” 

She tries to move forward again, but Sansa seems suddenly rooted to the spot. 

“Well, then this is even more exciting!” Sansa is grinning broadly. “Right?”

“Or embarrassing,” Brienne mutters.

Jaime is looking over.

“Well, you’ve got the arms of a warrior, you’ll probably be great at it,” he says. “It’s not hard.”

There’s a hint of mocking in his voice that makes Brienne scowl even more.

She doesn’t get a chance to respond, though, because Mayor Arryn is standing up and announcing the official rules and then shouting “begin” only to get hit with a volley of snowballs before he can jump down from the bench he’s standing on.

Then it really is chaos. Brienne tries to keep up with people who are gathering and packing snowballs in seconds, hurling them at whoever is nearest. Sansa is vicious, and nobody in her path is safe. Brienne finds herself taking cover behind a tree, watching as even normally sensible people lose their mind.

Judge Tully is lobbing snowballs from the steps of the courthouse, while Sisters Unella and Mordane seem to have some kind of coordinated battle plan. The school has come out too, the children obviously enjoying it. Brienne spots her neighbor dashing around in the fray despite wearing a skirt and tights along with her usual pastel winter attire. 

Asha is running along with her brother, both of them shouting some sort of battle cry, while Sansa is picked up by a very large, tattooed man who uses her as a human shield.

Brienne considers intervening, but Sansa is laughing even as she tries to kick him in the shins, so Brienne thinks it is probably okay. 

The town librarian sprints past with an armful of snow, his wire-rimmed glasses slipping on his nose as he launches a surprise attack on the owner of Wildlings. 

Hiding behind a tree is definitely a good idea, until Brienne feels an armful of snow get dumped down the back of her jacket and screams in shock.

Jaime is doubled over laughing when she turns around. 

“I didn’t think your voice would get that high,” he manages to get out. “That’s fantastic.”

“That’s against the rules,” Brienne informs him, scowling as she tries to shake the icy cold from her back. Her sweater is going to be soaked. 

Jaime just laughs harder. 

“What other sounds can you make?” He picks up another handful of snow. “This is very intriguing.” 

Shoving a handful of snow directly in his smug face is, as it turns out, extremely satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. So much fluff. And so much I don't know why I'm pulling your pigtails, I just am from Jaime. Who will not be thinking of noises Brienne makes, in any context, after this. Nope. Not at all.
> 
> Tomorrow: "You know, if you keep eating the dough, we won't have any cookies."


	5. December 5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion doesn't know how he got roped into Jaime's holiday family fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, these are in chronological order and intended to occur on the dates - so this story would be happening today - BUT the November ficlets are interspersed throughout. Some happened before December, some happen during. It's ... confusing, and someday I will post an order but today is not that day. 
> 
> Prompt: "You know, if you keep eating all the dough, we won't have any cookies."

"You know, we won't have any cookies if you keep eating the dough." Tyrion glares at Jaime, whose cheeks are bulging with ginger molasses batter.

Tommen drops his spoon in the bowl, looking guilty. Myrcella rolls her eyes and leans against the counter. Jaime looks completely unrepentant.

"You're not supposed to eat dough," Myrcella says. "Raw eggs have, like, salmonella."

Jaime shrugs. "It'll be fine."

"It'll be better as cookies." Tyrion gives the batter another stir. "Myrcella, get the cookie scoop."

Myrcella gives another eye roll, but digs in the bag of stuff Tyrion has hauled over and produces the requested utensil. 

"This is stupid," she says. 

Jaime frowns. "You like cookies. Everybody likes cookies."

"A minute on the lips, forever on the hips," Myrcella says, and Tyrion winces.

"Do not listen to your mother about that," Jaime tells Myrcella. "You're a growing kid, you don't need to worry about what you eat."

"Although vegetables are, on occasion, a good idea for overall health." Tyrion can't help giving Jaime a pointed look as he adds that.

"We had mushrooms and spinach on our pizza just last night," Jaime mutters.

Tyrion lines a cookie sheet with parchment paper and starts guiding Tommen on how to scoop up a ball of dough, roll it in sugar, and then place them on the tray.

"You got it?" 

Tommen nods solemnly.

"All right, Myrcy."

The girl doesn't look up from her phone. Tyrion can feel the headache starting somewhere behind his left eye.

"Do you want to cut the shortbread or ice the sugarplum stars?"

"Whatever." 

Jaime plucks the phone from the girl's hand. 

"This is stupid," Myrcella says again. "Why are we doing this?"

"Because it's Christmas and this is what families do." Jaime sounds like he's barely keeping hold of his temper, but Tyrion can hear the disappointment in his brother's voice.

"Not our family." Myrcella pokes at the cooling stars. "I'll do these. If I have to."

"Our family hasn't done so well at being a family," Jaime says. "But we can do better."

"Plus there's sugar." Tyrion isn't quite as bitter as Myrcella but he privately agrees that Jaime's going a little bit overboard with the family togetherness.

Then again, Jaime spent a lot of their childhood engrossed and TV shows and movies showing loving, happy families while Tyrion preferred to escape into books about history and myth. 

Tyrion wonders if that's why Cersei had Jaime under her thumb for so long. Jaime has spent most of his life doing exactly as their sister ordered. He dated whoever Cersei picked (with terrible results), wore the clothes she chose, socialized with the people she liked. Even the apartment is decorated with things Cersei picked out, all sleek minimalism and discomfort.

Tyrion still doesn't know what made Jaime finally give up on their sister. Tyrion suspects it might have been Cersei’s deeper descent into alcoholism or the way she’d started blaming her own children for everything, the same way she’d blamed Tyrion all through childhood. 

Her children except Joffrey, of course.

At any rate, Tyrion is glad Jaime has moved on from clinging to Cersei in the name of family, even if it does mean he’s baking cookies with a silent eight-year-old and a surly twelve-year-old.

Tyrion thinks they should send Tommen to a psychiatrist. Jaime wants to wait and see if he will talk on his own, and not send him until he can agree to it. 

Jaime puts on holiday music — and Tyrion will shoot someone if he hears that damn Chipmunk song, he really will — and insists on making far too many cookies. Tommen manages a few small smiles, though he doesn’t speak. And even Myrcy loses her frown at some point, though she still rolls her eyes an awful lot.

By the end, though, they have tins full of ginger molasses cookies, sugarplum stars, cranberry orange shortbread and rum fudge cakes. Tyrion’s kitchen looks like a powdered sugar factory exploded and he’s pretty sure Myrcy has somehow gotten chocolate batter in her hair but Jaime is smiling bigger than Tyrion can remember. 

For a few hours of frustration, it’s not a bad result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies! The [sugarplum stars](https://wickedgoodkitchen.com/sugar-plum-shortbread-christmas-cookies/) are ones I haven't made yet but would like to. Not this year, however, as my annual advent of baking is international themed. The other three are holiday standards for me. [Ginger molasses](https://www.gimmesomeoven.com/chewy-ginger-molasses-cookies/), [cranberry orange shortbread](https://www.momontimeout.com/cranberry-orange-shortbread-cookies-recipe/), and [rum fudge cakes](https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/rum-fudge-cakes) are all amazing. Highly recommend. 
> 
> Tomorrow's prompt: "It's okay if you don't like it."


	6. December 6th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa means to kiss Margaery on the cheek to say thank you. She really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It's okay if you don't like it."

“It’s okay if you don’t like it. “ Margaery is biting her lip when she says it, an expression so different from her usual confident face that it startles Sansa. 

Sansa turns the carefully wrapped package over in her hands. The wrapping paper is thick, printed with embossed snowflakes. 

“It’s nothing much,” Margaery continues. “I just saw it and thought of you and I know it’s not Christmas yet, but I couldn’t wait.”

Sansa carefully unties the silvery ribbon holding the package together — it’s real fabric ribbon, she can save it and use it in her hair — before undoing the paper. It’s so pretty, she can’t bring herself to rip at it like she might normally.

Sansa gasps when she unfolds the gift. It’s a scarf, for fashion not warmth, beautiful green silk printed in an abstract pattern of blue. It’s _beautiful_.

And Margaery says she bought it because it mader think of Sansa. 

“I love it.” Sansa pets the scarf gently, and thinks she sees a relieved look on Margaery’s face.

Sansa really does mean to kiss Margaery on the cheek when she hugs her and thanks her. Maybe a bit closer to her mouth than is entirely proper for friends, because she hasn’t actually asked Margaery out yet or had real date.

Except Margaery turns her head, just as Sansa is about to kiss her and she catches Margaery’s lips instead of her cheek.

Margaery is sweet and soft and her lips taste like tea and peppermint chapstick and Sansa is only human after all. When Margaery responds, moving her lips against Sansa’s and darting her tongue out to taste, Sansa deepens the kiss and pulls her closer.

“Do you thank everyone like that?” Margaery asks, when they stop kissing to breathe. She doesn’t move away, her breath warm against Sansa’s mouth. Sansa moves one hand to pet Margaery’s hair, sliding from the long strands to the fuzz of the undercut, watching the way Margaery shivers a little as she does.

“No.” Sansa kisses her again, sucking on Margaery’s lower lip and trying to learn the things that make the other woman sigh and hum against her. 

“Good.” Margaery nips at Sansa’s lower lip before kissing her again, and Sansa can tell she’s smiling when Sansa whimpers a little into the kiss.

Two can play that game.

Sliding a hand under the edge of Margaery’s sweater and resting it on the smooth skin of her stomach definitely gets a little squeak and Margaery pressing herself more against Sansa, sliding her own hand down Sansa’s back and grabbing at her ass.

Sansa only pulls back when the door chime rings, jingle bells pulling her back to reality.

That’s probably for the best, Sansa realizes, with a blush rising in her cheeks when she considers they’re on one of the couches at the shop, in full view of the windows. And somehow, they’ve maneuvered themselves so Margaery is half-reclined, Sansa sprawled on top of her. 

Of course it’s Selyse Florent (or Baratheon, she can’t seem to decide if she is taking her name back after the divorce or not) and she sucks air between her teeth and scowls at the pair of them.

Sansa waves a little, returning to her sweater while Margaery helps Selyse. After Selyse loudly demands Margaery washes her hands. Which, honestly. Margaery’s hands may not have been precisely visible, but they were clearly outside of clothing. 

Unlike Sansa’s.

Still, it is a store and Margaery is working, so Sansa doesn’t set down her project, deliberately keeping the yarn and needles between them. 

“I was going to ask you to coffee first,” Sansa says. “I really was.”

Margaery smirks.

“I have coffee at my house,” she says. “And we close at 8.” 

That’s only a few hours away. Sansa grins. 

“That sounds great.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scarf I'm thinking of is like [this](https://www.etsy.com/listing/729399814/blue-brain-scan-silk-charmeuse-scarf?ref=shop_home_active_4&frs=1), which is actually pictures of brain scans. 
> 
> This will be a T-rated universe but I AM considering a companion with the um, adult outtakes. If there's interest. 
> 
> Both of them really intended on proper courting and dates. Really they did.


	7. December 7th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ygritte loves her job. She gets to hear all the best gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Oh, I'd have a few ideas to warm you up."

There are a lot of great things about Ygritte’s job. Wildling Brew is fairly relaxed, Mance is a decent enough boss, and there’s no dress code, which is why Ygritte is currently getting away with wearing a Supernatural shirt with occult symbols down the arms. 

So far the only people to complain have been that bitch Selyse (Ygritte hates going to the dentist, hates it even more now that Baratheon has divorced Selyse AND Melisandre too, and both hygienists seem hell-bent on taking their anger out on unsuspecting patients) and creepy Preacher Sparrow. Who preaches about sin and stares at teen girls legs for far too long, so Ygritte’s perfectly happy if he never sets food in Wildlings again. So is Mance. 

The best thing about Ygritte’s job, though, is that being at a coffee shop means hearing all the town gossip. 

She grabs a tray and makes a round to tidy tables and get dishes left by people who can’t read a giant fucking sign telling them to bus their own fucking table, casually loitering near the more interesting conversations. 

The Stark girls are here for their weekly coffee date. The younger one looks as surly as always, bitching about the new mechanic at Mott’s place and her car not being fixed. Ygritte thinks that’s a little unfair considering how bad the car was crumpled in when Ygritte stopped by the garage to get her oil changed. Gendry is a decent guy. Not creepy, and a little to quiet for Ygritte, but still with biceps she wouldn't mind taking a bite out of.

The older Stark doesn’t seem to care, because she’s smiling dreamily into space and has a giant hickey on her neck. Good for her.

Ygritte steps past the table where Baelish is angrily writing signs telling tenants that he has paid for too many plumber visits and will evict anyone he finds flushing menstrual products from their apartment.

Which is some bullshit, because Ygritte saw Maege this morning, and Maege was bitching about how the pipes in most of Baelish’s buildings are corroded from years of using shitty drain cleaner to try to avoid hiring her and all are about ten years past needing replacement. 

Ygritte grabs a refill for the pretty brunette from the pharmacy, who has a giant textbook in front of her. 

Ygritte feels bad for how much time the woman spends pouring over chemistry textbooks, it’s the least she can do.

Besides, it lets her hover near the two elementary school teachers who came in looking hungover as shit which is shocking. 

Ygritte nearly drops the tray when she hears the prim one, who Ygritte doesn’t think she’s ever seen wearing pants, mumbling something about some guy having his hand down her jeans at the bar last night. 

The other one squeals so loud she makes herself wince.

The secret life of elementary school teachers. Who know?

Ygritte really wants to hear more but the door chime has her hustling back to the counter where two of Westeros’s finest are waiting.

“You look like frozen shit,” Ygritte greets them both, looking at the snow collected on their uniform jackets and the way Tarly has his hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

“Good morning,” Tarly says, because he’s always somehow nice. 

“You’d be freezing too if you had to stay outside in this.” Snow looks sulky, and his hair is suspiciously stiff where strands have escaped from his bun.

“That’s why I’m not a cop.” Ygritte grabs cups and starts making their usual. “Well, that and because I don’t believe in propping up a patriarchal system of oppression that relies on violence and intimidation to control people.”

Asha Greyjoy looks up from playing footsie with Val at the front table long enough to raise a solidarity fist. 

“Fight the power,” Asha says, too loudly for a Saturday full of hung over patrons. 

“We can’t change the system from the outside,” Tarly starts earnestly, and Ygritte tunes him out. She shoves their coffee at them, and reaches out and snaps one of the stiff curls near Snow’s temple.

Just as she thought, actually frozen hair. 

“Hey!” Snow pets up his head. 

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re still pretty.” Ygritte makes another round. 

The older Stark girl is sighing now, and sharing a loving and probably somewhat idealized description of someone’s breasts to her younger sister. Who looks vaguely nauseated. 

“That’s a nice way to treat a frozen man.” Snow is definitely pouting now. “What am I supposed to do, when I have to go back out there again, all damaged.”

“Oh, I’d have a few ideas to warm you up.” Ygritte tosses the line back on reflex, but she happens to glance is way and notice the red flush start creeping up his neck.

Well now. That _is_ interesting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely getting expanded later. I'm visiting my parents, though, and being in your late 30s does not exempt you from being dragged to do things on command, apparently, so I don't have the time to get to more of it today.
> 
> Baelish is based on a real landlord I had, who would post signs like that. Even though it would be completely illegal to evict someone for that reason, at least where I was living.


	8. December 8th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city employee holiday party doesn't really get wild until the older guys leave. And then it gets interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "I'm just here for the free food."

The official holiday party for city employees always starts as one of the most boring events in town, if you ask Jon. Not that anyone ever has. 

Tarly’s always caters, Sam’s father glaring at his son the entire time while Sam suddenly feels compelled to load his plate with salad and grilled vegetables instead of the main course, and then there’s a bunch of boring speeches from Mayor Arryn, Chief Selmy and Judge Tully. Usually Baelish and Lannister end up speaking too, even though they’re both council members and not the mayor, which means Jon’s uncle feels like he has to give a speech, because if Tywin Lannister does anything, Ned has to do it better and more ethically. 

The booze doesn’t come out until Howland Reed finishes thanking his crew of volunteers for running fire and emergency calls, and most of the older crowd departs after a lackluster dessert.

Jon will admit this year is shaping up to be better. For starters, someone convinced Arryn to skip Tarly’s and hold it at the new the pizza and Italian place to cater instead. Someone also convinced the mayor to allow everyone to bring a plus one, which means there are a lot more people circulating around the back room Evenfall’s.

Jon almost drops the plate he’s loading with garlic bread and fettuccine alfredo when he feels a bump on his hip and turns his head to see Ygritte grinning at him from behind her red hair.

“Stalking me now?” Jon tries to make it sound flirty but he’s pretty sure he just lands on creepy and cringes at himself.

Even Sam, who’s piling chicken parmigiana on top of his lasagna, looks disappointed by Jon’s effort. 

“I’m just here for the free food.” Ygritte takes the fettucine ladle from Jon’s hand, piling it next to a serving of the garlic butter tortellini. 

She follows them to the table, though, sitting next to Jon and cheerfully ignoring Trant when he protests that she’s moved his coat and stolen his chair.

That’s just fine with Jon, Trant is a dick and as far as Jon is concerned, he can fuck off. Plus if Trant goes, so does Payne. 

Jon tries not to look disappointed when the burly redhead from the fire squad shows up, giving Ygritte a smacking kiss on each cheek before settling next to her. 

“Shame for Mance,” the redhead says. Jon can’t quite remember his name. “Getting stuck with being on call.” 

“We’ll just have to eat his share,” Ygritte says.

“And drink it!” The man roars with laughter. 

Jon is pretty sure he also teaches elementary school. He wonders how terrified the kids must be of the hulking, loud giant of a man. 

The rest of the table fills up with people who aren’t too bad — Addam Marbrand from Crakehall and Marbrand with a pretty girl on his arm who smiles sappily up at him the whole time, Dacey Mormont still in her WFD fire sweats and looking entirely unperturbed to be seated by Addam and his thousand-dollar suit, Daario Naharis, who slips Jon his flask under the table, Daario’s date Ros from the flower shop, and Oberyn Martell and his wife-girlfriend-something Ellaria Sand. 

Oberyn manages to eat his food like he’s performing sex acts on it, and Jon tries to avoid looking at him or Ellaria and the substantial amount of skin shown by her dress. 

The speeches are just as boring as ever. Mayor Arryn is mercifully brief, but Baelish and Tywin Lannister drone on and on, and Uncle Ned feels compelled to match them. Howland will be brief too, but Jon can already feel the boredom sinking in while Baelish talks about the vision of the town and Westeros becoming something greater. Or something. 

Daario’s flask makes a few more rounds under the table. Addam has his chin propped in his hand, looking half-sleep. Ellaria has migrated from her chair to Oberyn’s lap and is occasionally making some breathy sort of sounds Jon is very definitely not thinking about. Dacey has actually fallen asleep, head pillowed on her arms. She’d almost face planted into her food, which Addam had removed just in time, much to his date’s annoyance. 

Sam is eating Dacey’s abandoned plate, shrugging cheerfully and saying it would be a shame to waste such good food. Ros helps him. 

When a small foot brushes against Jon’s ankle, he jerks so hard his knees hit the table. 

Daario glares at him. Dacey doesn’t stir. 

Ygritte laughs in Jon’s ear. 

“Twitchy, aren’t you?” Her foot moves higher, slipping under the leg of Jon’s pants, the silky feeling of pantyhose sending a shiver through him. 

Jon chances a glance at her companion, but he’s involved in some conversation with Addam’s date, who has abandoned Addam and is batting her eyelashes up at the burly man with a look of adoration. 

Ygritte’s hand lands on Jon’s thigh, and he almost hits the table again. 

“These things always this boring?” Ygritte’s close enough that Jon can feel her breath on his neck.

“Until the old guys leave.” Jon tries to shift away, but Ygritte just moves with him, hand creeping closer to places Jon really doesn’t think she needs to be touching right now. 

Ellaria lets out a little breathy moan from across the table. 

Oberyn is a lawyer, you’d think he’d have better judgement but maybe not. Jon wonders who defends lawyers if they get arrested. Aren’t they competitors? Although Addam doesn’t look like he particularly cares what Oberyn gets up to, or like he’s planning to use it next time they’re in court facing each other.

Ygritte rests her head on Jon’s shoulder. He can just hear her smirking when he moves her hand from where it’s dangerously close to his crotch. 

“Shy? Or don’t you know what to do with it?” 

“I know what to do with it.” Jon grits his teeth. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’d just rather not be facing your boyfriend’s fists.” Jon chances another look at the burly redhead. He looks bored, and Addam’s date looks frustratedly at the two redheads on either side of her, neither of whom is paying her any attention. 

Ygritte laughs. 

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Jon doesn’t get a chance to respond, because Howland Reed is standing up to speak, giving a short thanks to everyone and asking the firefighter and EMS volunteers and stand and be recognized. Ygritte’s date leaps to his feet and Oberyn diverts his attention from Ellaria long enough to help Addam prop a still-sleeping Dacey into an upright position.

There’s polite applause after Howland finishes, and then most of the older men file out, Chief Selmy and Howland bringing up the rear. 

There’s a brief moment of silence and then Bronn Blackwater leaps up on a table shouting “Shots” while Davos Seaworth goes to help the restaurant’s proprietor move what Jon swears was a solid wall to unveil a full bar. 

Dacey wakes up as someone slides a couple of shot glasses of tequila in front of her and pounds them back without missing a beat.

Everything gets pretty blurry after that, most of it a dull haze to Jon.

Val and Asha making out in the middle of the dance floor. Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell joining them with their own makeout session, which makes Jon blink a few times to confirm he’s seeing what he thinks he is. 

Oberyn punching Ilyn Payne when he starts yelling about kicking Renly and Loras out because they’re gay. 

Oberyn making out with Addam — Ellaria watching with great interest — to prove a point after that. Or something. 

Sam getting emotional and crying a little on Jorah Mormont’s shoulder while he talks about Gilly from the bakery. 

Ellaria and Dacey making out in a corner, emerging later with Dacey in Ellaria’s gown (too short for her) and Ellaria wearing Dacey’s sweatshirt like a couture dress.

Ramsey Bolton and Devan Lannister coming to blows in the middle of the dance floor for reasons Jon doesn’t know. 

Addam’s date disappearing with Daario and Ros.

The burly redhead — Tormund, that’s it — corners Jon off the dance floor and Jon is cringing in anticipation of his fists.

“You know how to treat a woman?”

Jon blinks up at Tormund. “Huh?”

“My cousin’s a sweet girl. Deserves a man who knows how to treat her.”

Cousin? Jon’s eyes go to where Ygritte is dancing with Val and Loras in some sort of strangely choreographed routine while Margaritaville plays. 

“A man’s gotta make it good for a woman,” Tormund lectures, beefy hand settling on Jon’s shoulder. “Make sure she’s having fun, get her good and wet, slick like a baby seal.”

Jon wonders what, exactly, it is about him that makes people assume he’s a virgin. 

“I know,” he mumbles, trying not to think about Tormund putting any of that advice into practice. 

“At least you’re a slip of a thing,” Tormund says reflectively, eyeing Jon. “Won’t hurt her none. Just hope she can feel it!”

With that, Tormund gives a roaring laugh, and wanders off, leaving Jon standing in the corner.

Jon can’t be entirely surprised when Ygritte appears a few moments later to drag him out of the restaurant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these bits will make more sense when the story is expanded. Most of the folks are volunteer fire and EMS, who also have day jobs. Howland Reed runs the vollies. The Westeros police are chief Selmy, Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant, Jon and Sam. The town has four private attorneys: Addam Marbrand, Lyle Crakehall, Oberyn Martell and Renly Baratheon. They can't support full time prosecutors and defenders, so the private attorneys rotate through those roles when needed for criminal cases. Hoster Tully is the town judge. Ned, Tywin, and Baelish serve as council members with Jon Arryn as mayor, having taken over for Robert Baratheon upon his death. There is one vacant council seat to be filled because of that. 
> 
> Dacey's been awake for about 48 hours, between work and fire shifts, but refuses to miss the party.
> 
> I went to a firefighter party once. I have pictures to prove it, which is great because I don't remember a damn thing.


	9. December 9th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya needs someone who can convince her mother she's not the lesbian in the family. Someone believable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "And you need a fake date for this party why, exactly?"

Arya is inspecting the work on her car, running a hand over the hood and prodding the bumper, when she gets her mother’s latest round of texts.

“It’s a ‘98 Buick, not a Porsche,” Gendry mutters from where he’s leaning against the wall.

Arya decides to pop the hood and check out the work inside just for that comment, while she reads through her mom’s probably well-meaning overtures. 

_Don’t forget about the party!_ Arya can almost hear her mother’s chirpy tone. _Remember, you can bring anyone you like._

It’s followed by no less than four rainbow flag emojis. 

Arya understands why a lot of people clock her as a lesbian. She really does. It’s stupid, because not caring about clothes or hair has nothing to do with whether or not you want to dive face first into someone’s cunt (just look at Sansa) but people are stupid.

What really irks Arya is her own mother’s insistence on “support” no matter how many times Arya explains that she is straight, actually, it’s just that men are stupid.

Arya has considered just bringing a male friend to shut her mother up, but Cat knows Arya’s been completely platonic friends with Hot Pie and Lommy and Micah her entire life, she’ll never buy it.

Even if Arya did something like kiss them.

Which, ew.

Okay, Micah isn’t bad looking, but he’s also dating a hideously controlling girl who would probably shank Arya in the bathroom for kissing him, even if it meant nothing.

Plus Micah’s kinda feminine-looking, for a guy. Her mother has explained Arya’s childhood crush on him as a “safe space” to explore her “confusing sexuality.” 

Arya’s sexuality is not, and never has been, confusing.

What she needs is someone her mother doesn’t know. Someone undoubtedly masculine. Manly. Without a girlfriend who will kill Arya for needing help. Attractive enough that Arya won’t completely fail at pretending to date them. 

Arya slams the hood down with more force than is necessary. 

She’s sliding her credit card over to Gendry when it hits her. 

“And you need a fake date for this party why, exactly?” he asks after she blurts out her request. 

“Because I do.” Arya starts tossing the stuff Jon helped her bring over to the garage into the car. Jumper cables. Spare hunting gear. Blankets. Small tool kit. Emergency kit. Emergency clothes. Emergency snacks. Small sword. “You gonna help me or not?”

“Yeah, if I’m being your fake date, I think I deserve an explanation.” 

Arya wishes Gendry wasn’t tall enough to loom so efficiently.

Arya reverently places her CD binder under the front passenger seat, putting the visor CD holder with her current selection of favorites on the driver’s side. 

“My mother’s wrong about stuff and she won’t believe me,” Arya finally answers.

“Stuff,” Gendry repeats. “What stuff?”

“Stuff about me.”

“Like … bad stuff? You need alibi? You have a secret life? You’re pregnant?” Gendry’s eyes get wide. “Oh no, I’ve met your father, I’m not being your fake baby daddy.”

“I’m not pregnant!” Arya shouts it loud enough that one of the Lannister cousins getting their oil changed probably heard. Great. That’ll be all over town by noon. 

“So ….” Gendry looks at her expectantly. 

“She thinks I’m a lesbian,” Arya finally says, glaring at him.

Which does not deter Gendry from laughing so hard he almost starts crying. 

“Have you tried telling her you’re not?” Gendry suggests, when he finally recovers enough to speak. 

“Yes, you idiot.” Arya snatches her keys back from him. “I’ve told her a lot. She thinks I’m in denial or the closet or something.”

“So you need a fake date.”

“I need a fake date,” Arya confirms. “Preferably one who is manly enough that my mother can’t mistake it as an effort to sublimate my supposed desires in a socially acceptable relationship.” 

Gendry starts laughing again. 

“You think I’m manly?” 

Arya is pretty sure he flexes his arms a little when he says it, and rolls her eyes. 

“Look,” she says. “Are you going to do it or not?”

Gendry’s grin is slow and easy.

“Well first, we have to talk terms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late because my 9-ish hour drive yesterday turned into a 10-ish hour drive and I was done. Also, I seem to be sick and I chugged some Nyquil this morning so who knows if this makes sense? You'll get two today or tomorrow to catch up, pending how coherent I am while on cold meds.


	10. December 10th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha should feel panic over how much time she's spending at Val's. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Get your icicle feet off me!"
> 
> Note: It's not graphic, but there is a mention of animal slaughter here and an awareness that meat does not emerge in the grocery store all sterile and neatly packed in trays, but comes from actual animals which must be raised and processed.

Asha is in the middle of a lovely dream involving pirates and a chest of gold when she’s ripped out of her dreamscape into reality by two blocks of ice being placed firmly on her legs.

She screams and shoves backwards. Val hits the floor on the other side of the bed, laughing like a loon.

“Get your icicle feet off me!” Asha demands, unnecessarily, since she has already removed the problem. 

Val waggles her toes before hauling herself and crawling back into bed. She’s still in the fleece-y leggings and the oversized flannel she wears to bed. Asha would prefer her girlfriend wear nothing at all, but Val’s commitment to sustainable living extends to avoiding fossil fuels, and a woodstove does not give enough heat for naked sleeping in December. 

“But you’re such a good foot warmer,” Val says, kissing Asha’s neck. “What else will I do when I’m so cold from morning chores?”

“Everyone fed?” Asha keeps telling Val she can help with the early morning care, but Val insists on letting her sleep.

“And ice chipped off the water,” Val confirms. She hooks her leg around Asha’s, cold even through the flannel pants Asha is wearing. It’s warming up slowly, though, Val must have stoked the wood stove back into life. “Might look at slaughtering one of the pigs soon, for Christmas. Start some of the cuts curing for later in the year.” 

“Mmm, we could make pancetta.” Asha snuggles back against Val. “I hate driving an hour to buy it.”

“Next year I’m thinking of getting ducks,” Val says. “Maybe turkeys too.” 

“Duck eggs are nice.” Asha tries not to feel alarmed at the fact they’re talking about next year’s livestock.

Actually, what’s more alarming is that Asha isn’t alarmed, not really. Not even after spending more nights at Val’s than Asha thinks she’s spent anywhere. Enough nights that Asha knows all the routines of the little homestead, the animal feeding and the stoking of the wood stove and the quirks of the solar power system that powers the few appliances. Asha knows when to use the well water and when to use the rain barrels, and what special soaps and shampoo can be used so they greywater waste can be repurposed in the garden. 

Asha’s relationships are not — well, Asha doesn’t have relationships. That’s the thing. The closest would be Sansa Stark, and that’s really a sort-of friend she’s known for years who Asha happened to fuck.

Several years later, Asha is is still vaguely surprised her mostly-joking pickup attempted worked on Robb’s prissy sister, but it was absolutely worth it. 

But now Asha is staying at Val’s enough nights that she knows the routine of the sleepy homestead. Enough that Asha can’t deny Val is her girlfriend, not just a one-off or casual thing. Enough that Asha is becoming used to spending the rare time both of them have off doing farm chores or cooking or reading instead of slouching on the couch watching repeats of reality TV with a frozen dinner.

“Do you need to take care of yours?” Val’s voice pulls Asha back. 

“Theon will do it.” Asha does feel a pang of regret thinking of her dogs. They’re a rather bedragged, motley crew but she does miss them. If Asha’s honest, the best part of her and Theon’s reality TV marathons was always the way most of the pack would come curl around them. 

But Theon is perfectly capable of keeping the dogs fed and watered and letting them out. Even when he’s stoned off his ass. Val’s homestead requires much more work and will fall apart if someone isn’t there to take care of it.

“You should bring them here.” Val slips a hand, now warm, under Asha’s top, tracing lines on her stomach. “It’s not fair that you have to leave them.”

“Anne Bonney will try to eat your chickens,” Asha says, bracing herself for the feeling of panic sure to follow. 

Bringing the dogs over is not a casual relationship thing.

“I have fences,” Val says. 

“Bartholomew snores,” Asha warns her. “And Jack Sparrow takes up half the bed on his own.” 

“That’s okay,” Val says, sliding her hand lower. “We’ll just need to stay close enough to share what’s left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Asha's dogs are named after pirates, real and fictional. 
> 
> They are still in the honeymoon phase, there will probably need to be some compromises between Val's no fossil fuel, low impact life and Asha's frozen dinners in front of mindless TV lifestyle at some point. Especially during football season, though I haven't worked out who Asha roots for, but clearly not a team that's making the playoffs since she's not worried. 
> 
> Will be posting today's prompt later, as I'm starting to feel much more human and that should catch us up!


	11. December 11th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is fine, she's absolutely fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Admit you have a cold and I'll even get you soup." Takes place immediately preceding the soup prompt from November.

Brienne is not sick. She’s not. She’s going to keep repeating that fact until her body believes it to be true as well, if she has to. 

There are too many things to be done. Brienne’s finished the morning shift at the shelter, leaving volunteers in charge. They can’t finalize adoptions, but they can help anyone select a pet and return when Asha or Brienne is there.

There are still a lot of patients to be seen. Brienne and Asha need to work out a better solution; one of them at the clinic and one at the shelter had seemed reasonable, but it’s not working. 

Brienne sneezes into the corner of her arm, narrowly avoiding dropping the blood from a nervous cat that’s getting screened. 

“You’re sick.” Asha is flipping through a chart, looking annoyed at something. “Go home.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” 

“I am.” Brienne steps over to the cages for pets that need to stay and looks in on Snark and Grumpkin. They aren’t the only shelter pets in for spaying and neutering, but Brienne is getting attached — she’s nervous about their adoption and wants to keep an eye on them. 

Brienne really doesn’t think the pretty rich man knows what he’s getting into with pet ownership. 

“Admit you have a cold and I’ll even get you soup,” Asha counters. 

Brienne sneezes again. “I have surgery this afternoon and a patient to see.” 

Asha is still grumbling when Brienne gets to the exam room. The Siamese cat she’s examining is beautiful and mostly patient as Brienne checks her over and confirms the feline’s general good health. Tyene Sand, on the other hand, backs into a corner and glares when Brienne sneezes into her elbow. 

“I have a cold,” Brienne admits, after Tyene is checked out and on her way.

“No shit.” Asha looks unimpressed. “Go. Home.”

“I have four surgeries this afternoon.” Brienne looks over the charts.

“I’ll call and reschedule them.” 

Brienne would like to argue, but she’s interrupted by a coughing fit that shakes her entire body.

“You can’t do surgery like this,” Asha points out. 

“Wun Wun needs to come in today,” Brienne finally gets out. “Mr. Tully's already upset about how much he’s marking.”

“Then I’ll do that one.” Asha takes the folders out of Brienne’s hands. “You’re not good to anyone like this.”

Brienne knows when to admit defeat. Home is starting to sound good, and she’s honestly beginning to feel a little sad that Asha was joking about the soup. Soup sounds very good right now. 

Besides, Brienne tells her body, she’ll feel better tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fittingly written while I have a cold, no less. But I am now caught up!
> 
> For tomorrow, expect some sibling bonding among the Starks! Or some of them.


	12. December 12th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wonders why her siblings are so bad at their own love lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You sure that's enough mistletoe?"

“You sure that’s enough mistletoe?” Sansa stares up, hands on her hips. 

The ceiling of the parish hall is covered in mistletoe so much that Sansa thinks it might be impossible to move without being underneath it. 

Which could be a problem for the flow of people through the party, but that’s not Sansa’s main concern right now

Robb looks down from the top of the ladder, yet another sprig of mistletoe clutched in his hand.

“You’re right,” he says. “I think there’s an empty patch over by the window.” 

“Robb!”

Sansa catches her brother’s arm as he steps off the lowest rung of the ladder. 

“This is ridiculous.” She takes the mistletoe from his hand and jerks her head at Margaery, who is wrangling garland with a man Sansa assumes is her brother, and guides Robb to a mostly empty corner. “What is going on with you??”

“I’m decorating for the party?” Robb tries for innocent, and misses by a wide margin. 

The town Christmas party is meant to be hosted by all four of the big families in town. Supposedly the six, before the Targaryens and Martells moved away after some big drama ,but Sansa doesn’t remember that time. 

This year, however, her parents generation has unanimously decided to pass the duty onto their adult children. Or at least the practical parts, since they’re still providing financial support. 

Which in reality, Sansa is finding out means herself, Robb, and some Tyrells. At least so far. The Baratheons have been out for a while — Robert was crazy before he was dead and Stannis fucked off to the weird fundie church that hates dancing and music and alcohol and anything fun ever but especially at Christmas — and the Lannisters were never much involved to start. Which is a shame, because Sansa would really like to see the handsome cat adopter again and collect some intel. 

“What’s up with the weird mistletoe obsession?” Sansa shakes a sprig at his face for emphasis. 

“It’s festive?” 

“Robb.” Sansa can see Margaery and her brother take the ladder and start removing mistletoe, leaving a slightly-more-than-reasonable but still sane amount. 

The other two Tyrell brothers take up the garland, winding it around the walls. 

“I may have messed up with Talisa.” Robb rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “We … hooked up.”

“Then you don’t need mistletoe.” Sansa shoves the sprig she’s holding at Margaery as she goes past with the ladder. Margeary pauses to kiss Sansa as she does, proving the point nicely. 

“Well…”

“What did you do?” 

“Oh look, the tree, I’ll see if they need help.” Robb takes off to the door, where some delivery people are bringing in the large pine. 

Margaery wraps her arms around Sansa. “That much mistletoe does give us some nice excuses.”

“And it also means we’re caught under it with literally everyone in town,” Sansa points out. “Including our family. And Baelish.”

“Okay, ew.” Margaery kisses Sansa again. “This is Loras, by the way.” 

The man with the ladder gives a little wave, looking terribly unimpressed. “Marge, we are supposed to be working.”

“You’re just mad Renly isn’t here.” But Margaery disentangles herself and heads off again. 

Sansa carts the box of lights over to the tree and starts handing them to Robb before he can escape. 

“Why is hooking up with Talisa a bad thing?” 

Robb looks at the string of lights as if it holds the secret to life. “I may not have been entirely broken up with Roslin at the time.”

“Robb!!”

“I was trying!”

“You can’t be partially broken up with someone.” Sansa loops the lights around the tree, trying to space them evenly. “It’s like being pregnant, you are or you aren’t.” 

“I told her we were done.” Robb runs a hand through his hair. His auburn curls stick up in all directions. “She just refused to hear it and then she walked in and —”

“SHE WALKED IN ON YOU?”

“Not during. After.” Robb sighs. “And then she yelled and Talisa yelled and now neither of them are speaking to me.”

“And if you need a car, you’re going to have to go to the next town over.” No way Old Walder will sell to Robb now. 

“Anyway, I’m hoping to —”

“Trick her into kissing you and somehow sweep her off her feet with your magical sex abilities?” Sansa raises an eyebrow. 

Robb shrugs sheepishly. 

“You need to talk to her, Robb.” 

Sansa peeks around the tree as the doors open. Shireen Baratheon steps in, looking uncertain, her hair windblown under her fuzzy white hat. Sansa waves her over. 

“In the meantime, let me make your day. Remember that girl Rickon was talking about?” 

The face Robb makes when Shireen introduces herself is the funniest thing Sansa has seen in weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has met Shireen at the yarn store, in a partially written scene which does not fit any prompt but will someday get posted. So far, she's the only one who knows Rickon has a crush on a very proper-seeming teacher. 
> 
> This is NOT the fake date party, that's a second party held by the Starks. This is set up for the town party.


	13. December 13th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course everything starts to go wrong the day before the town party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Damn, the heat's broken." Wanted to do something different than they typical route one might go with that.

“Damn. The heating’s broken.” Father Meribald looks over the parish hall. Ice and frost are gathering in the windows. 

“It’s completely gone,” Mother Donyese confirms. She has a wrench in her hand and a smear of grease on her forehead as she emerges from the basement. “I’ll call the Mormonts, but there’s no way we’ll be ready to go for the party.” 

“We can’t cancel.” Sansa feels a vague sense of hysteria. 

Margaery shifts closer, burying her nose in Sansa’s collar. “It’s freezing, what are we going to do?”

“It’s our first year in charge, we can’t fail.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Father Meribald’s voice is gentle. “I’m sure everyone will understand.” 

“But it’s the town party.” Sansa isn’t going to cry, she isn’t. It’s just the best town tradition and it happens every year and now it’s ruined. 

“Well, what are we going to do?” One of Margaery’s brothers (not Loras, but Sansa doesn’t know the other’s names) speaks up. “The isn’t anywhere else big enough to hold everyone.” 

“We could ask Pastor Sparrow.” Mother Donyse doesn’t sound like she has much hope for that working out. The hall at First Mountain Church of the Redeemed is probably big enough to hold everyone but the odds of Sparrow letting in such frivolity is … low.

“What about downtown?” Margaery lifts her head long enough to offer the idea.

Everyone looks at her like she’s gone insane.

“It’s even colder outside,” Robb says. Or at least, that’s what Sansa thinks he says. It’s hard to tell through the several layers of scarf wrapped around his face. 

“Not outside. Inside.” Margaery looks annoyed at having to expose her face to the cold air.

“The stores,” Loras fills in. “People cold open them up like open houses, it would be good for all the new shops.”

“Arryn has been trying to get more interest in downtown,” Father Meribald says. 

“Doesn’t Tarly’s have those outdoor heat lamps?” one of the other Tyrell brothers asks. “We could set them up in between.”

“Littlefinger’s might have some too,” Robb says. “And maybe Evenfall?” 

“We could move the decorations and add them to stores.” Sansa considers it. “And to what is already set up downtown.”

“Can we do it in time, though?” Mother Donyse looks skeptical.

Robb is pulling out his phone. “We can if I call mom.” 

It seems like the entire town comes out to help, once Sansa’s mother starts calling people she knows. Sansa helps take down decorations, with freezing fingers — made less cold by cups of hot chocolate and coffee Mance brings over from Wildling’s — and distribute them. 

Almost all of the downtown businesses agree to stay open and allow people to come in, most excited to set up displays as well. There’s a slight hitch when Tyene Sand at Happy Endings is overly enthusiastic and has to be talked down from a display full of sex toys in full view. 

The final compromise is a small offering of safe sex kits and a more elaborate display behind a curtain. Which is almost entirely sheer, but it at least gives parents some delusion their children won’t see or ask about what’s set up on the table.

Sansa doesn’t know what some of the things are on the table herself, frankly, and she’s not entirely sure she wants to. 

Surely nobody needs anything _that_ big to go … well. Nevermind. 

Most of the other stores are much more reasonable. Even Lannister’s bank agrees to open up the lobby, much to Sasna’s surprise, and the only holdouts are Balon’s Barbers and The Iron Crown. Balon’s because Balon has important plans to get falling down drunk and The Iron Crown because Stannis Baratheon hates fun ever since he and his (now ex) wife joined Sparrow’s church. 

There are just enough heat lamps to line the streets between stores. It’s not exactly warm, but it’s not so frigid people will avoid moving between shops. 

By the time Sansa is carting over the last load of greenery and mistletoe, people seem to be really into it. Asha and Brienne are setting up a selection of portable cages with some of the harder-to-adopt pets at the front of the vet’s office. Tysha from Sew What is helping Val make what appears to be a wreath out of stray nuts and bolts held together with ribbon. Most of the stores are putting up themed displays, although the extent to which they are Christmassy varies. (Sansa doesn’t think swords are festive, but Syrio disagrees, if his antique weaponry display is any indication.) 

The owner of the new gym seems to be constructing a Christmas tree out of hand weights, which is not exactly typical but fine. Sansa hands him some bows and sprig of mistletoe to decorate it. 

If nothing else, this will definitely be a town party to remember. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the church is Episcopal, but there are nuns — Episcopal nuns aren't typical but do exist. I'm just going with, they're Catholic nuns who converted. Because I don't know enough about Catholicism to write it. ANYWAY. Mother is the title for female priests, similar to father. We'll see more of the stores downtown tomorrow -- though obviously we have a few. 
> 
> So far there's: Syrio's Curiosities, the antique store, Happy Endings, Tyene's sex shop, Between the Covers, Tyrion's bookshop, Sew What, Tysha's fabric store, For Want of a Nail, Val's hardware store, Starfish veterinary, Drogo's gym (which I will name by tomorrow), Evenfall's, Wildling Brew, Seven Sisters Bakery (Gilly's place), Dragon Egg petshop, Tarly's, The Iron Crown dentistry, Balon's Barbers, Rose Garden Tea and Yarns, and Lannister Bank. 
> 
> The animal shelter itself is not in downtown, but farther out, which is why Brienne and Asha bring the pets to the vet.


	14. December 14th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The town holiday party is full of surprises. And mistletoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, and shifts POVs a bunch of times, so be warned.

Brienne’s plans to avoid the town holiday party are dashed by the change in venue. Still, she plans to stay in the office rather than join the crowds wandering the streets. 

It’s going surprisingly well. People are strolling down the sidewalks, and ducking into the various shops and taking whatever the stores are offering for holiday cheer. They’re even getting a lot of people at the vet’s office, despite being at the very end of the downtown district. Brienne and Asha have set out a display of dog treats for anyone bringing their pet, as well as handouts on what holiday decorations are safe for cats and dogs. Plus the cages of some of the harder-to-adopt animals brought over from the shelter are getting a lot of attention, adorned with Sansa’s festive bows and ornaments. 

Across the street, Sunspear Salon is bustling, and Brienne has stopped over a few times already for a cup of hot wassail. Brienne isn’t entirely sure what wassail is, but it’s very delicious and very warm. And the cookies from Seven Sisters next door are delicious, cinnamon and sugar melting in her mouth. 

A burst of cold air hits Brienne as the door flies open to admit Sansa and Asha, red-cheeked and smiling. Sansa is giggling and saying something about mistletoe. 

“Brienne!” Asha is uncharacteristically happy, reminding Brienne of the rare times in vet school that Asha had dragged her out to a party. She’s dressed up in a suit for the party, her blue tie askew. 

“Oh, you wore your new jumpsuit,” Sansa says. “I told you, it looks amazing.”

“We’ve had a lot of interest in the pets,” Brienne says. One of the smaller dogs barks at the sound of voices. 

“I’ll take over,” Asha declares. “Your turn.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” 

Brienne should know by now that Sansa won’t take that for an answer, and she finds herself being dragged to her feet, when the room seems to sway a bit. Sansa giggles. Brienne blinks.

“Is there alcohol in this?” Brienne frowns at her cup of wassail. 

“From Obara’s?” Asha snorts. “Of course.” 

Maybe a walk and fresh air wouldn’t be a bad idea. Brienne lets Sansa lead her out of the office, looking down the block to where the crowds are bigger near the square. Sansa links their arms together, pulling Brienne close. Her sparkly skirt brushes against Brienne’s legs as they walk. 

“We’ll have to stop everywhere,” Sansa declares. “It’s so amazing how almost everyone has gotten involved.” 

Everyone really has. Brienne doesn’t know too many people yet, but she sees faces she recognizes as they stop in the bookstore to look over the display and munch on some cheese and crackers. Down the street, she spots her neighbor ducking into LIttlefinger’s which is offering dollar Christmas shots.

Shireen isn’t sure what constitutes a Christmas shot, but she’s happy to let Missy drag her in and find out. Especially when she’s already pleasantly buzzed and warm from several glasses of Dr. Sand’s mulled wine and Oberyn’s coquito. 

“Milk and cookies!” Shireen snatches one from the tray of shots. “I have to try that.” 

Missy is reaching for a candy cane shooter, eying the peppermint crusted rim of the glass. “I’ll pass on that.” 

“I’ll have Santa’s panties,” a familiar voice says from beside Shireen. “Or perhaps they’re Mrs. Claus’s.” 

Shireen tries, and fails, not to blush as she looks over to where Rickon is smirking down at her. Missy licks the candy cane crumbs off her lips and grins. 

“What a coincidence, we’ve got our own Mrs. Claus right here,” MIssy says, not-so-gently shoving Shireen closer to Rickon. 

Shireen’s red dress and white fur capelet had seemed like a good idea when she got ready, but now she’s wondering if it was wise. It’s not the first Mrs. Claus reference she’s gotten, especially when she took first shift at the school’s hot cocoa station, but it’s definitely the most inappropriate.

“So it would seem.” Rickon’s eyes trace Shireen up and down. “I’m not sure I’m on her nice list, though.”

Shireen hasn’t seen him since the night of the concert and standing next to him again at LIttlefinger’s makes her remember the feel of his hands running over her body. Shireen isn’t sure how she’s supposed to act in this situation. 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” she manages to get out.

“Well, the last time I saw her, she ran off,” Rickon says, not quite looking Shireen in the eye. “I might owe her an apology.”

Shireen bites her lip. Missy looks between the two of them with undisguised curiosity.

“Maybe not an apology,” Shireen says. She studies the tray of shots. “Maybe she just needed things to go a little bit slower.” 

“So I’m not doomed to coal in my stocking forever?”

Shireen glances over at Rickon. “Definitely not.” 

Shireen can feel her pulse beating as Rickon hands her a shot, clinking his shot glass against hers (red and white, like her dress and coincidentally also like her — well, Shireen isn’t thinking about that) and offering a “Merry Christmas.”

Shireen’s shot tastes mostly like cream and cinnamon. Rickon is smirking again when she sets her glass down.

“You’ve got a milk mustache,” he tells her. But before Shireen can wipe it off, Rickon is bending down and running his thumb over her lip before kissing her. 

Rickon is warm and solid and the feel of his mouth against hers sends shivers down Shireen’s spine. She wraps her arms around his neck without thinking, running one hand over the muscles of his shoulder. 

When they part for breath, Shireen can’t help grinning up at Rickon, even as Missy claps excitedly behind them. 

Shireen has to let go of Rickon’s shoulders so he can stand up straight, but he takes her hand as they head out, and presents her with one of the white carnations Ros is handing out at Blushing Blooms. He also insists she get one of the temporary tattoos Davos is doing at Stolen Ink, sipping hot buttered rum while they wait. 

“It’ll look good,” Rickon says, running a hand over her calf, as they debate where she should get hers done. “Very festive.” 

Festive isn’t exactly what Shireen is feeling right now, but she’ll go with it as she watches the crowds move through, carolers singing outside the gym where a tiny blond woman is laughing up at the extremely well-built owner.

Dany thinks she’s seen more people at Dragon’s Egg tonight than she has since opening. Hopefully they’ll return — several people have already commented on how much more convenient it will be than driving to the next town. 

A new business takes time, she reminds herself. She waves at Varys, who is presiding over the Weekly Spyder office, undoubtedly trying to catch any gossip he can, and grabs a popcorn ball from him before taking a walk. 

The problem with owning a store is that she never has time to visit any of the neighbors when they’re open. It should be easier now that she’s hired Daario, and tonight will be a good test of how he does with the store. 

He’s definitely helpful when it comes to stocking, and that’s a relief for Dany’s back if nothing else. 

The mini pies from Fat Walda’s are definitely excellent, the Christmas Tree shots at Littlefinger’s are definitely not, but Dany thinks the best thing may be finally visiting Vaes Dothrak. 

“You made a Christmas tree out of weights?” Dany can’t help laughing as she looks up at Drogo. If she thought he was handsome in sweats, then putting him in tight jeans and well-fitted green shirt should be illegal. 

“It’s holiday cheer,” Drogo says solemnly. “And you should try our gingerbread protein balls.” 

Dany’s nose wrinkles. “How do those pair with Chritmas tree shots?”

“They’re better with the hot buttered rum.” Drogo looms slightly over Dany, leaning his arm on the wall behind her head. “Did you know you’re standing under mistletoe?”

Dany grins.

“Is that so?” Before Drogo can move, she goes up on her toes and plants a kiss on his cheek. 

“That’s not a real kiss,” Drogo protests, as Dany ducks out from under his arm and heads back to the door. She makes sure the skirt of her sequined dress is as short as possible as she does. 

“If you want a real kiss, take me out to dinner first,” Dany calls over her shoulder, before heading back up the block towards the town square.

The heat lamps make it just warm enough to walk without a coat if you go quickly and avail yourself of some of the alcoholic drinks on offer. Dany takes a mini Christmas pudding and chews thoughtfully as she passes the daycare, where a small blond boy is coloring very intensely on something, while his father stands behind him in a Santa hat. Moving to Westeros is definitely one of her better ideas.

Jaime watches as Tommen carefully colors in the Christmas bookmark. He’s already finished one, but refuses to leave, carefully filling in the gingerbread men and candy canes on the second.

Myrcella is sighing loudly. She’s finished her drinking custard from the sewing store and sugared pecans from Syrio’s, but she’s refused to try Jaime’s roasted chestnuts. And she’s clearly bored. 

“Why can’t I go with my friends?” Myrcella asks for what Jaime thinks may be the twentieth time. 

“Because your friends don’t have an adult with them,” Jaime says, also for the twentieth time. 

“I”m 12, Uncle Jaime,” Myrcella argues. “I’m old enough to walk downtown.” 

“It’s very crowded, I’d prefer you be supervised,” is all Jaime says. He doesn’t mention the numerous businesses passing out alcoholic drinks, some of which seem to be doing a poor job of making sure minors don’t get any. Or the kids are doing a good job of getting older people to get drinks for them.

Either way, Jaime doesn’t want Myrcella to have any part in that. 

“Then can we just go?” Myrcella looks at the table. 

“When Tommen is finished.” 

Myrcella sighs again, but Jaime doesn’t really notice, because his attention is caught by a very tall blonde passing the door.

“Stay here,” Jaime says, and darts out. 

The cat wench is holding a cup of Martell’s coquito, which Jaime thinks could stop an elephant he puts so much rum in it, and already flushed red in her cheeks. Between that and the blue jumpsuit she’s wearing, her eyes look almost otherworldly. 

“I’m still getting my cats, right?” Jaime grins as Brienne scowls at him. The redhead from the shelter is clinging to her arm, looking even tipsier. 

“You’re set to pick them up next week.” 

“Well, I hadn’t heard anything.” Jaime follows the pair into Sand Snakes, helping himself to another cheesecake bar. “I thought you might have changed your mind.” 

“Have you changed yours?” Brienne’s voice is challenging. 

“Nope.” Jaime cocks his head, dialing up the charm. Brienne’s sullen expression doesn’t change. “I’m ready. 100 percent prepared for responsible cat ownership.” 

“How about responsible parenting?” the redhead is looking past Jaime. He turns to see Myrcella in front of Martell’s office, chatting with a dark-haired boy who looks much too old and holding a cup of something she’s definitely not supposed to be drinking. 

Jaime barely has time to tell the cat wench he’s looking forward to proving her wrong before he’s rushing out the door to his niece.

“MYRCELLA JOANNA BARATHEON put that down right now!” 

Sansa doesn’t miss the way Brienne’s cheeks get even redder when Lannister comes out to ask her about the cats. Or the way Lannister had looked her up and down before speaking. 

“Someone wanted to talk to you,” Sansa says. Brienne shakes her head.

“He’s just being a jerk.” Brienne scowls as she follows Sansa into the school gym, where they’re handing out cocoa. 

“I think he was trying to catch you under the mistletoe,” Sansa tells her. 

“Nobody wants to catch me under the mistletoe,” Brienne says. 

Sansa doubts that, especially as the red-headed, bearded man who is handing out cocoa bounds to his feet as they enter.

“My god you’re tall,” he says to Brienne, eyes going wide.

Sansa feels Brienne stiffen next to her. 

“Yes,” Brienne says stiffly.

“Good shoulders too,” the man says. He’s practically licking his lips. “I haven’t seen you around, and I’d definitely remember a big woman like you. I’m Tormund. Tormund Giantsbane.”

Tormund waggles his eyebrows at the end of his statement, in a way that Sansa thinks is meant to be seductive. Brienne introduces herself through clenched teething, tugging Sansa backwards as they speak.

“I’m off shift in thirty minutes,” Tormund says, with a wink. “Find me under the mistletoe and I’ll make it a Christmas you’ll remember.”

“No,” Brienne says, as soon as they get outside, glaring down at Sansa. “Absolutely not.”

“It doesn’t have to be him,” Sansa says. She squints across the square, where a woman who looks like Arya is gripping a man’s arm in a very un-Arya like way. “But now you can’t say _nobody_ wants to kiss you.”

“Oh Gendry, you’re so strong,” Arya says in a mock falsetto voice, gripping Gendry’s bicep, before releasing it and shoving him backwards. “Is that what you want?”

Gendry laughs as he stumbles back, hitting the wall of Lannister’s Bank. “I’m just saying, if we ignore each other here, it’ll look awfully suspicious when you take me to your parent’s party.”

“Nobody’s watching us here,” Arya says. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh? That’s not your sister then?” Gendry points.

Arya spins around to see Sansa staring right at them, arm in arm with some tall blonde woman Arya hasn’t met. She wonders if it’s Sansa’s new girlfriend or her new boss.

“And your other family members aren’t here?” Gendry asks.

“So?” 

“So if you want to make our fake date believable, we should at least act like we’re friends,” Gendry says. 

Arya huffs out a breath. “Fine. What’s your plan?”

Gendry’s plan, it turns out, is placing a very large warm hand on the small of Arya’s back, as he guides her through the crowd (it feels hot even through her jumpsuit) and fetching her glasses of eggnog from Lannister’s and snacks from Tarly’s and Tyrell’s grocers.

“You have spinach in your teeth,” Arya tells him, as she steals another bacon-wrapped date from the plate. 

The lights on the buildings make it look like he turns red as he rub at his teeth until the vegetable is gone. 

They’ve staked out a spot in front of Balon’s, watching the people as they head in and out of the shops and offices. 

Arya thinks it’s going to be awkward, but it turns out Gendry likes football and martial arts, same as she does. He also seems interested in the things she’s learning about antique weapons from working at Syrio’s, even if Arya rambles on more than she should. 

The time goes faster than Arya thinks, and Gendry keeps refusing to let her do anything, getting them cups of mulled wine and Christmas coffee when they start getting cold.

Arya does roll her eyes when he insists on walking her back to Syrio’s, as if she’s not a grown adult who can beat up men several times her size.

“It’s polite,” he says. Then he glances up at the lamp post.

“MIstletoe,” Arya says. “You don’t have —”

THe kiss Gendry brushes against her lips is so quick Arya almost misses it. But it definitely happens, her lips tingling as Gendry straightens up and heads back down the street before she can yell at him.

It isn’t until Arya is inside, telling Syrio he can go out and explore, that she notices Jon staring wide-eyed from across the street.

“I think I should take Gilly some tarts,” Sam says, as he comes out of Evenfall’s. “Do you think I should take some tarts?”

“Why?” Jon takes one of the carmelized onion pastries Sam is holding and pops it in his mouth. They’re very good. It’s a good distraction while he’s trying to process what he just witnessed.

“She’s alone in the bakery.” Sam frowns down at his plate. “She won’t get to visit all the places.”

“Oh.” Jon swipes another tart and Sam pulls the plate away. 

“I think I’ll get her one of everything,” Sam decide, heading back into Evenfall’s.

That’s definitely Arya, scowling at customers and handing out sugared pecans. Definitely Arya, who was definitely just kissed by a man Jon doesn’t recognize.

And the man is unharmed, which is really the surprisingly part.

Sansa is going to lose her mind when she finds out. Maybe Jon can trade her the info in exchange for her fixing the uniform patch that’s coming off his shirt. 

Sam guards his plate of treats carefully, insisting on taking things for Gilly at every stop. Which he also feels the need to tell everyone. As well as mentioning how nice Gilly is, and how good her bakery is, and how she’s just so friendly.

Jon isn’t sure how Sam is learning all this, because Jon and Sam seem to spend most of their time together and as far as Jon can tell, Sam hasn’t had very many actual conversations with Gilly. Just spent a lot of time in the bakery eating pie and reading the comics he’s finally gotten the bookstore to stock while gazing longingly at her.

Still, he seems to be doing better romantically than some. In particular, better than Robb, who is holding his face where a petite brunette has slapped him and now seems to be yelling as they stand in front of the gazebo.

There’s an especially large bunch of mistletoe there and Jon remembers Sansa saying something about Robb being obsessed with it.

Clearly it’s not working out as planned. 

Jon wonders what the mistletoe situation is at Wildling’s. Ygritte is pouring cups of coffee, reindeer antler headband perched on her head. 

“Hey,” Jon says, awkwardly.

Ygritte just looks at him.

“So I realized I didn’t give you my number the other day,” Jon starts. “And I thought maybe …”

“Oh, you mean the day you ran out of my bed?” Ygritte is loud enough for several people to look up, and she’s staring hard at Jon.

“I didn’t run,” Jon says. “I had to work, I told you.”

Ygritte stares another minute, then breaks into a grin, laughing. 

“I’m just fucking with you.” She pulls a phone out of her apron and hands it over. 

Jon types in his number. “So maybe we could go out sometime.”

“Maybe we could.” Ygritte looks considering. “You do seem to know where to put it at least.”

Sam is still laughing when they leave, and Jon is almost as red as the blond Amazon he bumps into on the sidewalk. 

Brienne isn’t sure what’s happening tonight. It might be all the drinks — okay, it’s definitely all the drinks — but she’s also certain Sansa has something to do with it. Margaery has joined them, and Sansa insists on stopping at every spring of mistletoe to kiss her girlfriend.

There is a lot of mistletoe. 

That means they’ve moved at a snail’s pace, and Sansa seems to be trying to rope Margaery into her effort to get Brienne to kiss someone. 

Brienne wonders if Sansa has been talking to her father. Ever since they moved, he’s been going on a lot about clean slates and new people and new chances. 

New chances doesn’t mean better odds, Brienne knows.

She munches a couple of carrot sticks from the Citadel clinic’s veggie wreath (still almost untouched) as Sansa sweeps Margaery backward into a kiss like you see in old movies. 

“Brienne, you should come to the New Year gala,” Margaery says as they explore the display at Reed’s Outdoor Emporium. The hiking backpacks are very nice, Brienne will have to come back and take a closer look later. 

The trail mix with dried cranberry is also tasty. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But it’s so much fun,” Sansa is giving her that look. The look that means somehow, Brienne is going to end up going to the gala. “A lot of people would be interested in hearing about the shelter.”

“Then Asha can go.”

Margaery winces. 

“Asha is … banned.” 

Brienne’s eyebrows go up. “Banned?”

“Is that from the cake incident?” Sansa asks.

“No, the raccoon and champagne,” Margaery says. Sansa nods sagely. 

Brienne thinks it’s probably better not to ask, and instead to take a piece of fudge from the table at the very fancy law office they’ve stopped at.

Though she is curious about what could possibly have gotten Asha banned from a party, and that’s probably why she forgets to look up while she’s walking.

“Brienne,” Sansa sings, eyes twinkling. “I believe you’re under some mistletoe.”

Brienne’s hope that Sansa or Margaery is the person nearest to her — both would be awkward, but not humiliating — is dashed when a male voice to her right agrees with Sansa.

The redheaded man is thankfully not the one from the school. He’s taller and slimmer, clean shaven. And very handsome. 

“You don’t need to,” Brienne tells him. “My friends are just being silly.”

“Well it is tradition,” he says. He steps a little bit closer. “Unless I’m too terrible of an option.”

Brienne blurts out a no before she can think twice, and the man leans forward to kiss her before she can process any other escape routes. 

Brienne’s one and only kiss had been terrible — Hunt was push and sloppy and disgusting. This is better. The kiss is firm and definitely a kiss, but not pushy or overly long. But it isn’t like books either — Brienne doesn’t feel like she’s lightheaded or walking on air.

“I”m Addam,” the man says, when he steps back, as Brienne backs away, flustered. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Jaime/Brienne is still endgame. But I want her to get some admiration and raise her self-esteem a bit first. And everyone can have fun with mistletoe. Plus I like the idea of Addam just being 100% into buff girls and owning it. 
> 
> Now for a bit more on the town. I would draw this if I had the ability, but I do not. Think of a town where the downtown was big, then it kind of died, and now it's coming back with new stores and being revitalized. Also some of the things I said weren't downtown yesterday, actually are. I changed my mind. Sorry.
> 
> The center of it is the town square, which is a big park with a gazebo, pond, fountain, etc. The four corners of the square are Lannister Bank, City Hall, Cregan's Department store and Tary's Restaurant.
> 
> One block of downtown is north of the Square. Going away from the square, the right side of the street has Lannister's bank, Tyrell's Grocers, Balon's Barbershop, Marbrand and Crakehall Law Offices, The Iron Crown Dentistry, Reed's Outdoor Emporium and Lothar Frey's Insurance. On the opposite, heading towards the square, there's an empty office across from Freys, the Citadel Clinic, The Frozen North Ice Cream Shop, Wildling Brews Coffee, Ellaria Sand's therapy office, the old Martell hotel, which is closed, and Tarly's. 
> 
> South of the square, across from Lannister's, there is City Hall, the courthouse, The Sand Snakes Boutique, The House of Black and White Pharmacy, Syrio's Curiosities antique store, Oberyn Martell's law office, Renly's law office. Across from Renly and heading the other way, back towards the square, you have Sew What (fabric store), For Want of a Nail (hardware store), Evenfall's Pizza and Italian Food, Mother's Mercy daycare, Lonely Hills Garden Center, Westeros Elementary School, and Cregan's Department Store. Both of these blocks are a mix of newer stores but also some of the places that have been around through the rise and fall and now revitalization of downtown. 
> 
> Then there's the next block to the south. This is that block downtown you don't go because it's sketchy, but this one is now getting new stores and being gentrified. Which is fun. Across from Renly's, you have Cassel's Bowling Alley, Dragon's Egg (pet store), Rose Garden Tea and Yarns, Blushing Blooms (florist), Vaes Dothrack (gym), Seven Sisters Bakery, and Starfish veterinary. Across from Starfish and going back up the other way, you have Sunspear Salon, Between the Covers (bookstore), Happy Endings (sex shop), Stolen Ink (tattoo shop), Littlefinger's Bar, the Weekly Spyder offices, and Fat Walda's diner. 
> 
> Yes, Tyrion and Tyene Sand do get a great deal of amusement from how many people get mixed up between their stores and go into the wrong one. 
> 
> Anyway, if you care that's downtown Westeros! I wish I were good enough of an artist to draw it but this will have to do.


	15. December 15th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen definitely doesn't expect to find Rickon Stark on her doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I wanted it to be a surprise."

Shireen is settling down with her second cup of tea and contemplating her list of chores when the doorbell buzzes. 

It’s not entirely unusual for delivery people to just hit all the buzzers until someone lets them in, which Shireen does, so she’s a little startled when there’s a knock on her door a few seconds later. 

She’s definitely a lot startled when she sees Rickon Stark standing outside her door, hands behind his back. 

Shireen is suddenly very glad she’s changed into a comfortable sweater dress and leggings and isn’t still wearing her pink alpaca onesie pajamas. 

“How do you know where I live?” Okay, that’s probably not the best greeting she could offer but it’s the first one that comes out. 

“I asked Sansa. And she asked ….” Rickon scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know, my sister just knows things. I could have asked but I wanted it to be a surprise.” 

Shireen lets him in, noticing he still has one hand behind his back. Rickon stands by the door, tall and broad and black leather (and god he looks good in leather) looking so out of place in her little apartment decorated in pink and grey and a collection of plants. 

Shireen knows her place isn’t the most sophisticated decor, but she can’t resist doing all the things she wasn’t allowed to do as a child. Stringing up little white lights, flowery curtains, lots of plans and knicknacks she’s found scattered all over the surfaces. A big furry, white rug and lots of throw pillows.

MIssy has pointed out it’s not exactly welcoming for men, which Shireen has countered by pointing out men aren’t exactly flocking to her place. And besides, Shireen isn’t going to live her life based on what some man, real or hypothetical, thinks about it. She’s finally got her own space, and she doesn’t have to live with the sparse, bare-bones room her parents thought would build character and discourage sinfulness. 

“I like your tree,” Rickon says. He nods at the small live fir in the corner. The colored lights are lit up and Shireen has strung real popcorn and cranberries together for garland to go with the ornaments, mostly gifts from kids she’s taught during her student teaching years. 

Shireen wonders if it’s early enough that the lack of presents is normal and not sad. Not that it will change all that much as the holiday gets closer.

“I’m going to plant it in the square after,” Shireen says. “If the mayor okays it.” 

“If not, you could plant it in the Gift. My uncle would help sort it out.” 

“Can I get you tea? Or um ….” Shireen tries to think about the contents of her refrigerator. “I think I just have tea.”

“I’m good.” Rickon looks around, then clears his throat. “I wanted to bring you something and um, apologize I guess?”

He pulls the hand out from behind his back and hands Shireen a pot with a bow on it. Shireen recognizes a golden beauty orchid, the pink and gold flowers already blooming. 

“It’s beautiful.” She runs a finger over the delicate petals. 

“You mentioned wanting to try orchids so …” Rickon trails off as Shireen shifts some of the plants in the bay window around to make room. It’s her favorite place to sit, in her grey chair with a cozy blanket and a book from the stack by her chair. 

“I wanted to apologize for … if I was too pushy.’ Rickon looks very uncomfortable. “I mean, I thought you weren’t interested after the concert, but then last night and…”

Shireen remembers the conversation she had with Sansa, the way she’s implied that Rickon hasn’t had girls that stick around very long. If at all.

Shireen doesn’t feel properly prepared to navigate this kind of conversation. She thinks about how easy it had been to kiss Rickon with her head buzzing from shots, mistletoe all around, everything taking on a slightly dreamy quality. She’d spent an embarrassingly long time when she woke up looking at the fake tattoo on her calf, a surprisingly delicate Christmas tree covered in snow that looks like a real tattoo. 

But she’s not one to back down from a challenge, and honestly, humiliation in front of man wouldn’t even come close to the worst things Shireen has gone through. 

“I’m interested,” Shireen says. “But I don’t know what you … if you have expectations that I …” She shrugs helplessly.

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Rickon says quickly. “And I’m sorry if I did.”

“I wanted to,” Shireen blurts out, turning red as she thinks about the feel of his hands over her skin, how it made her feel. “I’m not very good at … I don’t date much.”

“Me either.”

Shireen can’t help raising her eyebrows at that and it somehow breaks the tension, and they’re both laughing. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go home with you,” Shireen says, in a sudden burst of honestly. “It’s just too soon. I don’t — we aren’t —”

Rickon’s eyes grow dark. “I wanted you to go home with me, too.” 

Shireen is suddenly, terribly conscious of the way her bed is visible behind the row of shelves she uses as a makeshift wall, sheets still rumpled from sleep. 

“But if you want to hang out first, or whatever,” Rickon continues. “I’m cool with that too.” 

“I’d like that.” Shireen can’t control the smile that spreads across her face, or the desire to step forward and hug Rickon.

He smells like leather and cinnamon and _green_ (somehow), and he’s so very warm and solid where Shireen’s head rests against his chest.

Then suddenly she’s feeling the ground drop out beneath her and Rickon just picks her up like she weighs nothing, which makes Shireen feel more than a little light-headed. Especially when Rickon kisses her, and Shireen only feels self-conscious for a minute, before some instinct kicks in and she wraps her legs around Rickon’s waist. He actually growls in response, spinning them around and pressing Shireen to the door and deepening the kiss. 

Shireen actually whimpers when Rickon pulls away from her mouth, sucking at a spot under her ear that has her trying to pull him closer. 

“I should go,” Rickon says, face buried in her neck.

Shireen makes some sort of noise. She’s not sure if it’s meant to indicate agreement or disagreement.

Rickon’s ear is right there, tempting Shireen to give into her desire to run her tongue along it. Rickon reacts delightfully, arms gripping her almost painfully. 

“If I don’t go, I’m going to throw you down on that bed and not leave until I’ve fucked you so hard you don’t remember who you are.” 

Shireen doesn’t even have a word to describe the noise she makes when Rickon says that or the way heat curls in her belly. 

Rickon pulls his face away, setting her down gently. Shireen is gratified to see he’s breathing heavily, looking flushed as he gazes down at her. 

When he texts her later with a question about dinner later in the week, Shireen might dance around her apartment in a way that would be embarrassing if anyone were there to see her.

Luckily, there isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rickon and Shireen just keep getting a little steamier than I mean them to! Also, trying not to keep it too sad, but I'm apparently incapable of writing fluff without at least angsty backstory. But it's much sweeter for the characters to find happiness after being sad, right?


	16. December 16th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry is doing a really good job of being Arya's fake date. Almost too good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen."

“That is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen.” Gendry looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. 

Arya scowls at him. Her Christmas R2-D2 sweater is one of the better ugly sweater choices, in her opinion. 

“Wait until you see yours.” She shoves the bag at him.

“Oh no, I’m not wearing a Christmas sweater.” Gendry shakes his head. “Nope. No way.”

“It’s an ugly sweater party.” Arya rolls her eyes. “You have to.”

“Somehow you failed to mention that before.” 

“Oh, did I?” Arya smirks up at him. “You did promise.” 

Arya isn’t worried about outlasting Gendry’s efforts to stare her down, and it’s not long before he’s pulling the sweater over his head with a grimace. The Tyrannosaurus Rex wrapped in lights does look very festive, in Arya’s opinion. 

The ugly sweater party is a tradition, hosted by the Stark family for all the employees at Cregan’s. Everyone goes, even the Starks who don’t work at the store. As far as Arya’s concerned, it’s a giant pain. 

The first person Arya sees when they walk through the door is Robb, who’s looking extra morose, in contrast with his sweater featuring a Gingerbread man and the words “Oh snap.”

Theon is patting him on the shoulder and looking around nervously. Probably because he’s wearing his humping reindeer sweater again, the one that makes Arya’s mom yell at him a lot.

Arya feels Gendry’s hand on her back again and bites back the urge to jump and shout at him. They’re supposed to be on a real date, it would look suspicious. 

Does he have to be so touchy, though? What is Gendry playing at, anyway? Like that stupid kiss last night under the stupid mistletoe. 

Gendry is being the same as he was at the town party, weirdly attentive and going to get drinks and asking Arya if she needs anything.

It’s _weird_ and Arya isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do in this situation.

Gendry is getting eggnog for them when her mother finally comes over, looking somehow elegant even in a sweater that has a reindeer with a light up nose on the front. 

“Oh, dear, you didn’t bring anyone?” Cat reaches out to fuss with Arya’s hair and she bats her hand away. 

“I did. He’s getting drinks.”

Arya sees her mother’s face fall a little. 

“Honey, you don’t need to pretend, it’s fine.”

“Mom, I’m not pretending!” Arya can feel her anger rising. It’s nice that her mother is so supportive but it’s not very useful if she won’t believe Arya. 

“I love you no matter who you date,” Cat continues. “And LGBTQ people are just like anyone else.”

“Yeah, I know that Mom, I’m just not one of them.” Arya can feel her teeth grinding.

Thankfully Gendry returns with the eggnog. Arya takes hers and drains half of it in one go, hoping the bourbon will hope. Gendry looks between the two of them and drapes his arm over Arya’s shoulders.

The prospect of finally getting through to her mother calms Arya a bit.

“Mom, this is Gendry.” Arya shifts closer to Gendry. He’s very warm, somehow. Are boys always warm? “My date.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stark.” Gendry moves his arm enough to shake Cat’s hand. She still looks skeptical. But Arya’s mom is nothing if not polite, and she asks how they met, hmming thoughtfully at Gendry’s job at the garage, glancing between the two of them like she’s trying to puzzle something out. 

Gendry smirks down at Arya. “You have an eggnog mustache.”

“Shut up.” Arya scrubs at her mouth. 

“Still missing it.” 

Gendry transfers his cup to his other hand, coming very close and leaving Arya with the odd sensation of being surrounded by a wall of Gendry. A very warm wall that smells like motor oil and something spicy and musky. 

With his other hand free, Gendry wipes at her face. Arya goes very, very still as he does, suddenly aware of how close he is and the way the calluses on his thumb catch on the skin above her lip. Something about it makes her shiver a little. 

“There,” Gendry says. Arya thinks his voice might be a little bit lower. He doesn’t turn back right away, his hand lingering on her cheek for a minute while Arya stares up at him.

He really is very handsome, Arya realizes, with very blue eyes and cheekbones that are frankly absurd. 

Her mother clears her throat and Arya jumps. She’d forgotten Cat was standing there. When Arya turns back, Cat’s eyes are wide. 

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Gendry,” Cat says. Her voice sounds a little strangled. 

“Cheer up mom, you still have one lesbian daughter,” Arya tells her. At least all the rainbow merchandise won’t be wasted.

“Don’t be silly, Arya.” Cat is looking around. 

“Didn’t Sansa bring Margaery to the party?” Arya looks around before spotting the pair, wearing coordinating sweaters. Sansa’s has a sheep wrapped in lights and says “Fleece Navidad” while Margaery’s has “Fa La La Llama” on it, above a scarf-wearing llama. 

“Oh, her friend? Yes, she’s very nice.” Cat takes a step back. “Well I need to go mingle.”

Arya rolls her eyes, watching her mother move at a speed that’s honestly a little surprising. She hasn’t seen her mom go that fast since Rickon’s pyromaniac days. 

Gendry doesn’t move his arm when Cat is gone, just grins down at Arya and steers them toward the food. 

At least the catering is good. Her parents get the fancy place from a couple of towns over, far better than anything in Westeros. Arya chews on the bone of a lamb chop as she looks around. Sansa and Margaery are holding hands and gazing adoringly at each other. Rickon is sulking in a corner, wearing a sweater that features a skeleton on a motorcycle. 

“Why hello there?” Jon materializes in front of Arya, his Festivus for the Rest of Us sweater usually a good match for his brooding mood.

Except he’s suspiciously not brooding right now. Arya wonders if it has to do with the redhead from Wildling’s, whose Naughty or Nice sweater somehow manages to be cropped and large enough to hang off one shoulder at the same time. 

That’s the kind of sex appeal far beyond Arya’s grasp. 

“Who is this?” Jon sounds gleeful.

“Gendry,” Arya says, around a mouthful of shrimp. She hopes some of it gets on Jon. 

Gendry introduces himself, and then so does Ygritte, elbowing Jon in the side. 

“I saw you two last night.” Jon can’t keep the gleeful tone out of his voice.

“So.” Arya stares at him. 

“I saw you two kissing.” Jon sounds like they’re all in fifth grade again.

Gendry excuses himself to get more snacks, Ygritte following him. Arya wonders if Gendry likes Ygritte’s sexy sweater.

“It was mistletoe.” Arya snatches a crostini from a passing waiter. “Besides he’s my date.”

“Yeah, to make Aunt Cat stop insisting you’re a lesbian.” Jon’s eyes narrow. “Unless it’s a real date.”

“We had to make it look real.” Arya hopes she’s not turning red. She thinks she might be. 

“No,” Jon says slowly. “No, you _like_ him.”

“I do not. Shut up.” 

“You do.” Jon sounds positively gleeful. “Sansa is going to flip.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Arya grabs Jon’s sweater. “Or I’ll tell her you need sex advice.” 

That’s the moment Ygritte and Gendry return. Genry wraps his arm around Arya again, like that’s a totally normal thing to do, and holds the plate in between them. 

“I noticed you like the lamb,” he says. There are several chops on the plate. 

Ygritte is eating tandoori chicken straight off the skewer. “Who’s giving Jon sex advice?”

Jon says “no one” at the same time Arya says “our sister” and Ygritte grins. 

“She does look like she’s good with her tongue.”

Arya shudders, but follows Ygritte’s gaze to where Sansa has Margaery under the mistletoe, engaged in a very enthusiastic kiss. Probably too enthusiastic for public. 

What’s even better is that Arya can see her mother behind Sasna and Margaery, looking pale and clutching Ned’s arm. Arya’s father looks as stoic as always. 

“Must be a family trait.” Ygritte grins at Jon, then punches Gendry lightly in the shoulder. “Good to date a Stark.” 

Gendry’s the one turning red and stumbling over his words this time. Arya tugs him away, but not before telling Jon and Ygritte to get their minds out of the gutter, which just makes Ygritte laugh and Jon stare at her like she’s the best thing in the world.

Once Cat has been suitably corrected, and is wandering around in a daze, and Arya has introduced Gendry to her father (very amusing, Gendry stands up straighter and she’d swear his voice catches and he calls Ned sir), Arya expects he’ll ease back on the act. Everyone is definitely convinced, even Sansa. Sadly, Arya fails at evading her sister, who squeals and wraps Arya and Gendry in a giant hug, patting Gendry on his chest and complimenting his muscles. 

“Not that I’m into muscles,” Sansa says, words slurring slightly. The party is almost over and Arya isn’t sure if it’s better that she avoided Sansa until now or worse. “But Arya is and yours are very nice.”

“Sansa!” Arya hisses between her teeth.

“Muscles are nice,” Margaery adds thoughtfully. “But not as nice as boobs.” 

Gendry makes an alarmed sort of noise. 

“And it’s nice for Arya to finally meet someone. She’s so picky.” Sansa’s eyes narrow suddenly and she pokes Gendry in the chest. “But she should be, because she deserves the best. You better treat my sister right.” 

“Lots of orgasms,” Margaery adds helpfully. 

Arya buries her face in her hands. “There are no orgasms.”

“Then you’re not doing it right.” Margaery frowns at them. “Do you need instructions?”

Gendry chokes on air. 

“No!” Arya yelps. “There’s not — we’re not. Why is so interested in my sex life?”

“Well, it might help you relax if you got laid well.” Sansa is very frank about it. Arya feels like sinking into the ground. Turning to hide her face into Gendry’s side seems like the next best thing.

Except then she’s confronted with lot of Gendry’s very nice, very good-smelling muscles and probably looks very much like they _are_ dating and there _might_ be orgasms. Which they aren’t and there won’t, because this is just a favor. 

Which Arya will be paying for in archery lessons and an extremely cool set of vintage tools she’d unearthed a Syrio’s. 

“I hate you all,” Arya says, loud enough for them to hear even though her face is still pressed against Gendry’s sweater.

She feels the vibrations when Gendry laughs. At least Rickon and Robb don’t have anything to say about her love life. Rickon just grunts out a greeting and Robb stares at them and morosely mutters something about Christmas miracles and the wrong Stark.

It’s snowing lightly when they leave, bundled up in coats and hats. Gendry slips his arm around Arya’s shoulder again as they leave, confusingly, and they walk towards the square. Arya isn’t ready to go home just yet, if only because Micah’s girlfriend is visiting and Lommy will be tired of playing third wheel and want to cling to Arya. 

She really should think about getting her own place. 

Gendry seems to be following her lead as they walk around the square. Arya likes it like this, when it’s dark and it’s snowing but not so hard to be a problem, and she can hear the distant sounds of everyone leaving the party and see the twinkle of holiday lights up and down the streets. 

“I had fun,” Gendry says, voice rumbly and Arya swears she can feel it even through both of their coats. 

“Even with the sweater?”

“I still hate the sweater.” 

“No you don’t.” Arya elbows him, grinning at the breath of air he lets out. 

“Nice way to to treat your date.” Gendry pulls them to a stop near the fountain. It’s not running, too cold, but the stone dragon at the center is still majestic.

Arya still isn’t sure why Westeros has a dragon, of all things, in the town square, but she’s always thought it was the best part of downtown. 

“I really did have fun.”

Then Gendry is leaning down and kissing her again. Arya tries to keep up, but her head is spinning with confusion. This kiss is longer than the one last night, long enough for her to register what’s happening and realizes she’s supposed to be doing something. Arya tries to move her lips along with Gendry’s, the kiss deeper and more intense than before, even if he doesn’t do anything like stick his tongue in her mouth. 

Arya looks up when Gendry pulls away, noticing she’s somehow grabbed onto his arms without realizing, mittened hands clutching at his coat as best she can. 

“There’s no mistletoe,” Arya says, after searching for the offending plant.

“No,” Gendry says. “There’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, when I start putting a revised and expanded version of these up in chronological order, we'll definitely get a bit from Cat, whose world view has been shaken quite a lot at this party!
> 
> Arya is in her 20s here, but a bit of a late bloomer, in terms of being interested in sex and dating beyond an abstract sort of appreciation. Gendry is certainly helping things along by virtue of existing. And he's definitely playing this situation and their deal to his advantage.


	17. December 17th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon doesn't mind helping Sam try to woo Gilly. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "This was more romantic in my head"

In retrospect, someone should have realized this was a bad idea.

But Sam is set on doing something nice for Gilly, because she’s running the bakery pretty much on her own (though she does, apparently, have six sisters — at least — hence the name, but somehow is the only one working) and it’s Christmas and Jon might as well help out.

Sam decides to surprise Gilly with a picnic lunch, and it’s nice and Sam gets the fancy salads from the deli at Tyrell’s and some mini quiches from Evenfall’s and a big thing of hot chocolate from Wildling’s, where Ygritte laughs at them and tells Jon it’d be more romantic to buy a big box of condoms. Jon helps Sam carry it all over and Gilly’s face does light up and then falls immediately.

Because lunch, of course, is a busy time for Seven Sisters. Jon helps Sam set up the picnic anyway, and slouches in a chair across the room to enjoy the show.

“This was more romantic in my head,” Sam admits, around the fourth time Gilly hops up to serve a customer, who looks extremely puzzled by the whole endeavor.

The part where Sams’s still in his police uniform probably doesn’t help.

“She still seems flattered,” Jon says. Gilly is blushing a pretty pink and giggling at Sam, even when he knocks over a cup of hot chocolate and has to mop it up before it spreads over the entire floor. 

“You could help you know,” Sam says, jerking his head towards the cash register.

Which is how Jon finds himself manning the counter of an incredibly frilly bakery while his partner/best friend sits on a blanket on the floor, canoodling with the bakery owner. 

“Fuck off.” Sansa is utterly unperturbed by Jon’s comment, giggling madly next to the tall blonde who is definitely her boss and not her girlfriend. 

“Second job?” Sansa manages to get out. “Is police work not paying the bills?” 

Jon growls. The blonde looks alarmed. 

Sansa finally calms down enough to order lunch and introduce the two — Brienne looks very relieved to learn Jon is Sansa’s cousin and not some random person insulting her — and the two camp out at a table while Jon tries to get their order together.

“It’s so sweet,” Sansa says, gazing at Sam and Gilly, as Jon sets down the bowls of apple brie soup and thick slices of warm bread. 

“It’s a bit impractical,” Brienne says. 

Jon heads back to the counter, handling a steady stream of vaguely confused customers. Gilly and Sam have migrated closer to each other, Gilly laying a hand on Sam’s arm and smiling at him so much it’s almost sickening. The rest of the cafe is buzzing with people, most getting to go orders but a few sitting down to eat. 

Jon hands Addam Marbrand his bag of cookies and loaf of herb bread, before stopping to drop off the pie Sansa and Brienne have ordered for dessert. Sansa immediately digs into her sweet potato slice, but Brienne sits frozen, ignoring her maple cream pie and turning a deep shade of red that makes Jon wonder if he should be calling the EMS crew.

Jon is wiping down the counter when Addam stops on his way out, leaning against the table and smiling at the two women. Jon can’t hear what he says, but whatever it is makes Sansa giggle lightly and Brienne turn an even deeper shade of red. 

Jon can see Addam scribbling something on a card and handing it to Brienne, who manages to take the card even though Jon can see her hand shaking. 

She’s almost as hopeless as Sam is, apparently. Maybe Jon can get them to form some sort of support group. 

By the time Sam and Gilly wrap up, Jon has served what seems like half the town. Sansa and Brienne have left, though not before Sansa gripped her friend’s arm and shrieked with delight as soon as Addam had left the bakery. (Jon is pretty sure he was still close enough to hear it.) 

“It went well,” Sam says, apparently forgetting about Gilly’s distraction, the spilled hot chocolate, or the time Gilly had stepped on one of the mini quiches in her hurry to serve a customer. 

“Maybe try something when she’s not working,” Jon suggests. He looks at the frosted windows of Happy Endings across the street while Sam juggles the picnic basket and blanket.

Ygritte was probably being serious about the condoms, Jon thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this went several places I didn't necessarily expect. But yeah, Jon is definitely a character who spends a lot of time observing. 
> 
> This is the [soup](https://www.halfbakedharvest.com/brie-cheddar-apple-beer-soup-cinnamon-pecan-oat-crumble/).


	18. December 18th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion thinks Jaime really needs to take a step back with the Christmas spirit. And focus on the aftermath of the town party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You say decoration, I say attack on my poor eyes."

The first clue is the wreath. It doesn’t register in Tyrion’s mind, because wreaths are normal holiday decor. Maybe not for Lannisters, who tend to pretend the holidays don’t exist, except as an annoying interruption in the business of making money, but it’s fine.

Then Jaime opens the door to the apartment and Tyrion feels like he’s been assaulted by a hurricane comprised of the North Pole and a glitter factory explosion.

“What the fuck?”

Jaime beams and takes Tyrion’s coat. Tyrion’s a little worried it’s going to disappear forever and be replaced with something red and green and sparkly.

Jaime’s normally stylish, minimalist modern apartment has been infested with Christmas to the highest degree. There’s a tree — which, again, fine — covered in lights and ornaments, all in shades of red and green and gold. Matching stockings are hung on one wall, near the old radiator that has been replaced in function with radiant heated floors. There are garlands and lights strung everywhere they can be, and small figurines and scenes on every flat surface. Santas, reindeer, a small snow-capped village, little frolicking forest animals in Santa hats. There’s even a nativity scene, ceramic Mary and Joseph and Jesus frozen in repose.

“I had Peck hire decorators!” Jaime is wearing a sweater that is, at least less offensive than some Tyrion has seen, but is still red with white stripes interspersed with reindeer. Normal reindeer, not the fucking ones Tyrion had seen the Greyjoy kid wearing, which he found quite amusing. 

“Decorators….”

Tyrion tries his best to process the part where someone got paid for this monstrosity. 

“Isn’t it great? I wanted the best Christmas decorations.”

“You say decorations, I say attack on my poor eyes.” Tyrion shoves his copy of the Weekly Spyder at Jaime and looks for the kids. He finally spots Myrcella slumped on the couch, under a bunting encouraging one to “BELIEVE” and Tommen sprawled on the floor next to a sleigh filled with pinecones and ribbon. Tommen is scribbling away in a coloring book. Myrcella, as usual, as her phone.

“I like it.” Jaime look wounded. Tyrion sighs.

“Father isn’t happy,” Tyrion says. He gestures to the paper. Varys’ photos from the holiday party have captured much of the festivities, in full color. Tyrion is quite proud of the photo that caught, at the end of the evening, Ros giving him a lap dance at Littlefingers, wearing a Santa hat and extremely brief skirt (and nothing else) but for once that’s not the main focus of his father’s rage. “Page two.”

But Jaime seems stuck on the front page of the paper. Varys has used the headline “Mistletoe Magic” and filled the section with family-friendly kisses under the many sprigs of the plant around the town. There’s annoyingly noble Ned Stark planting a polite kiss on the cheek of Aunt Genna, where the two had been caught, followed by a photo of Ned and Cat exchanging a surprisingly heated kiss of their own. Who’d have thought the uptight bastard had it in him?

Then again, they do have five kids.

There’s Walda Frey-Bolton planting an enthusiastic smooch on her long-suffering husband, a flustered Davos Seaworth receiving a peck from Maege Mormont, and one of the school teachers kneeling for a cheek kiss from a blushing and delighted student. A small boy and girl are caught in another shot, the boy screwing up his face while the girl kisses him on the cheek, another where Oberyn Martell has Ellaria Sand in a dip straight out of an old movie and an incredibly forced-looking smooch between Jon and Lysa Arryn. 

Jaime is frowning at the picture of Addam Marbrand, who’s kissing the ugliest blonde Tyrion has seen, who has quite the shocked expression on her face. 

“Page two,” Tyrion tells Jaime again.

“I can’t believe Addam kissed the …” Jaime trails off, looking at Tommen.

“Who?”

“The ….” Jaime makes a series of gestures. Tyrion stares blankly.

“The cat wench,” Jaime finally whispers, lowering his voice. Neither child is paying the slightest bit of attention. 

“Cat wench?” 

Jaime shushes him frantically, and then takes one final look at the kids before hauling Tyrion into the kitchen.

The kitchen hasn’t escaped the yuletide explosion, and Tyrion has to push aside a large snowman to get at his chair. 

“The woman from the shelter,” Jaime says. “The one that didn’t want to let me have the cats.”

“The cats are doing fine, by the way.” At least, Tyrion thinks they’re fine. He’s not exactly sure what cats are supposed to do. The old one seems to sleep a lot and the little ones like to run in circles for no discernible reason. But they’re all alive and eating so that seems like a good baseline. 

Jaime is frowning at the photo again. 

“Addam likes fun girls,” Jaime mutters. “She’s the kind of woman who owns fifteen cats and thinks a kiss means something. What was he thinking?”

“I thought you only met this woman once?”

“I’ve seen her around.” Jaime sounds far too invested in a stranger. “I just think Addam is making a mistake.”

“Addam is making a mistake.” Tyrion looks at the photo again. Still a tall, ugly blonde. Nothing like the women Jaime has dated (or fucked) over the years. Not someone Tyrion would expect his brother to get hung up on. Then again, Tyrion has never really understood what goes on in Jaime’s mind. “Are you sure you’re thinking about Addam here?”

“Of course.” Jaime looks offended. 

As much as Tyrion would like to explore his brother’s sudden interest in this woman, it’s not why he’s here. 

“Page two,” Tyrion says, yet again. Jaime finally opens the paper, and sees the other photos, this spread under the caption Santa’s Naughty List. In addition to Tyrion’s lap dance photo, another prominent picture show Myrcella cozying up to Trystane Martell, a cup of an undeniably alcoholic drink in her hand. Trystane, two years older, is smirking down at her with a look that can’t be mistaken for innocent.

“Well, fuck,” Jaime says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is very concerned about Addam. Of course. It's definitely about Addam. And, oh Varys. So much stirring up scandal.


	19. December 19th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is stumped for gift ideas. Asha isn't helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It isn't a present just because there's a bow on it."

Christmas shopping shouldn’t be too hard for Brienne, considering she really only has a handful of people to buy for. She’s already picked up a few locally made things to mail back to Tarth for her uncles and her father’s old business partner.

But her father is shockingly difficult to shop for and it’s getting far too close to Christmas for Brienne’s comfort. 

“At least you only have one day of gifts,” Asha says, when Brienne is bemoaning her lack of ideas. “I have eight.”

“Don’t you just buy Theon eight bottles of booze?” 

Asha shrugs. 

The thing is, Brienne’s father refuses to give ideas of things he wants. When she asks, he just says he wants her to be happy and enjoy life. 

“You could set up a date with the redheaded hottie and stick a bow on yourself when you tell him about it,” Asha suggests. She grins at Brienne over the table where they’re eating lunch, such as it is.

Brienne wishes, not for the first time, that Varys hasn’t published a photo of Addam kissing her on the front page of the Weekly Spyder. She’s already dreading what her father will say about it, and Sansa had been positively gleeful when she told Asha that Addam had given Brienne his number.

“That’s not a present,” Brienne objects.

“It’s what he wants, right?” Asha grins. “Add bow, done.”

“It isn’t a present just because there’s a bow on it.” It’s an issue Brienne has repeatedly run into, as other ideas for her father have included restaurant supplies (that he’d buy anyway) and even just making breakfast.

“Says who?” Asha stirs her bowl of microwave noodles, narrowly avoiding splashing broth all over the chart she’s reviewing. “That’s my plan for Val … I look good in a bow.” 

Brienne knows she turns red. “That’s way too much information.”

“The real question,” Asha continues, uncaring of Brienne’s discomfort. “Is do I put the bow on my tits or my cunt?”

“Asha!”

“She’s rather fond of both,” Asha muses. 

Brienne wonders, sometimes, how she and Asha ever managed to become such good friends. She can only imagine it had to do with forced togetherness in the high stress environment of vet school. Trauma bonding, or something like that. 

“Not helping my issue,” Brienne points out. 

Asha shrugs. “You could try it out for the hottie.” 

“I don’t even know him!” 

“You would after that,” Asha says. “Men are easy. You don’t even need the bow. Just show up and say you want to fuck.”

“I don’t want to —” Brienne takes a bite of her sandwich to buy time. “I don’t know him, I haven’t been out with him. And I’m not going to.” 

“Why not?” Asha is suddenly serious. “Marbrand’s not a bad guy, from what I hear. He’s cute enough, if you’re into the whole dude thing. And he likes you.”

Brienne picks at the remains of her salad. “I don’t understand why he’s doing it.”

Asha looks at her like she’s crazy. “Because he wants to go out with you.”

“But why?” Brienne frowns at the table. “Who put him up to it?”

Asha’s face goes soft in a way Brienne has never seen before. 

“Nobody,” Asha says. “It’s not … honey, this isn’t a prank. You can’t think that.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Well first of all, because you’re my friend.” Asha puffs her chest up. “I’m a Greyjoy. Everyone knows I’d cut a bitch that hurts you.” 

“Thank you?” Brienne is fairly certain violence is Asha’s way of saying I love you. It certainly is more familiar than pity, which makes Brienne want to curl up in a ball and take back the entire conversation.

“Second, you have legs for days,” Asha says. “Anyone who doesn’t want your thighs wrapped around their neck needs to seriously reconsider their attraction to women.” 

Brienne has definitely never heard that before. 

“Third, because Sansa would definitely have picked up on it if he was being insincere.” Asha knows Brienne isn’t confident in her ability to read people. “And she didn’t.”

“I don’t even know if I like him.”

“That’s why you go on a date.” Asha tosses her empty bowl at the trash and fist pumps when she gets it in. “Dinner or coffee isn’t a commitment to fucking him or anything else. If you have fun, you do it again and then you fuck him. If you don’t, you go your separate ways and move on to the next guy. Or girl. If you ever want to consider our much happier side of the fence.”

Asha makes it sound so simple. Like it’s all just normal, and maybe it is for other people, but not Brienne. Brienne knows the looks she gets in public, and she imagines they would only be worse if she was with a good-looking man — people wondering what he’s getting paid or how she’s blackmailing him. And what is she supposed to do on a date? What do people talk about or expect? Aren’t there rules about sex and when it’s expected? Brienne doesn’t know any of it.

Asha smacks a kiss on Brienne’s forehead while Brienne is still trying to formulate a response. 

“Just think about it,” Asha says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asha's gift-giving is a bit ... non-traditional. But fun, presumably. Brienne is so not on board with the paper, and Varys is very much NOT on her favorite person list right now. 
> 
> As for concerns — yes she will end up with Jaime eventually! But I want to play with her idea of getting some of the I-have-no-idea-how-to-people nerves out of the way first with others. Also, don't worry about Dacey either. Addam is very much in the, there are some cool girls. I should have dinner with them and see if there's something there phase. No commitments, getting to know you dating. Nobody is getting played!


	20. December 20th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Cat have lunch and a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You know what would go great with this? Hot chocolate."

“You know what would go great with this? Hot chocolate.”

Sansa doesn’t think hot chocolate would go great with meatball subs, not at all, but her mother is looking at the stove with such longing that Sansa makes a noise of agreement. Cat leaps up to start assembling ingredients, back turned to the table. 

Sansa keeps eating, wondering when her mother plans to get to the point of this surprise lunch. Not that Sansa is terribly put out, her mother’s meatball subs are amazing but still, Sansa doesn’t have all day. 

“So, Margaery seems like a nice girl.”

And there it is.

“She’s great. I like her a lot.” Sansa considers how much to say. “I think I could really have a future with her.” 

The spoon clatters loudly against the pan, and Cat’s back is a stiff line, even as her voice is full of forced lightness. 

“I don’t know why you never mentioned this before.”

“Mom, I’ve been talking about pretty girls since I was in middle school.” Sure, she’s never made a big coming out speech, but Sansa’s never been terribly subtle about her feelings. 

Cat is quiet for a long moment.

“I thought you just envied them,” her mother finally says.

Sansa can’t help snorting at that. “I spent three years insisting I was going to marry Jodie Foster one day.”

Cat stays quiet as she finishes making the hot chocolate and pours it into mugs, bringing them to the table. She’s still avoiding looking directly at her daughter and Sansa can’t help feel a surge of annoyance. 

“You had no problems when you thought Arya was a lesbian,” Sansa says. “You practically plastered the house in rainbows. So why are you so upset about me?”

“I’m not upset,” Cat says. It’s not very convincing. “I just don’t know why you couldn’t tell me.”

“I did tell you!” Sansa shakes her head. “I may not have made a big speech but I’ve never hidden how I feel. You just didn’t see it.”

Cat purses her lips together. 

“And you’re sure?” Her mother stares intently at her sandwich. “I mean, I don’t know the specifics of your relationship and I don’t want to pry, but sometimes you think you like something but it turns out you just admire it when it comes right down to it …”

Oh god. Her mother is asking if she’s sure she likes fucking girls. Sansa wonders if she can ask for a shot of vodka in her hot chocolate. 

“I’m sure,” Sansa says. “Very, very sure.” 

Cat turns an interesting shade of red. 

“Mom,” Sansa says. “What’s really bothering you? I know you’re not homophobic. So why is this making you so upset?”

Sansa stays quiet until her mother finally looks over, meeting her eyes for the first time since Sansa arrived. 

“I’m not upset,” Cat says. “It’s just … oh, it’s silly, never mind.”

“Tell me.” Sansa finishes her sub, licking marinara sauce of her fingers. 

“I just always thought …” Cat shakes her head.

Sansa waits. 

“Arya’s always been a tomboy,” Cat finally bursts out. “Knowing she wasn’t — well, she’s never going to have a big wedding and babies anyway, is she? But I still had you and I’ve always imagined walking you down the aisle in a beautiful dress and holding your children and I know it’s not my place to decide those things for you. It’s your life and you can do what you want but I’m just …”

Sansa can’t help it. She laughs. 

“Mom.” Sansa finally pulls herself together and reaches out to grab her mother’s hand. “I’m still me. I’ve always been me and I’ve always been a lesbian.”

Cat looks confused.

“I still want to get married and have a big fairytale wedding like I did when I was a kid. And I still want to have babies.” Sansa squeezes her mother’s hand. “There just might be two fancy wedding dresses instead of one, and I might not be the one giving birth to all the babies.” 

“I’m being silly, aren’t I?” 

“A little.” Sansa takes a sip of her hot chocolate. It’s not bad with the meatball subs, actually. “I really did think you knew.” 

Cat finally starts eating her own lunch. Sansa watches, wondering how her mother has missed the obvious for so long. Sansa just assumed she’d focused on Arya because she thought Arya was hiding something, not because she thought Sansa was straight. 

“Margaery seems like a nice girl,” Cat finally says. 

Sansa beams. “She’s so wonderful. I know it’s only been a few weeks but I just look at her and …” 

Sansa sighs. She can’t put into words what she feels when she looks at Margaery. Just that she never wants to stop doing it. 

Cat finally smiles. “You sound like me. When I met your father.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Cat. She does try very hard to be open-minded, but she's still got a lot of internal stereotypes to work through.
> 
> Sansa and Margaery are definitely U-hauling. They're probably gonna be the fastest moving couple here, but hey, gotta have something while some of our other folks get it together. :)


	21. December 21st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne loves brunch with her father, even if she could do without this particular conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "That's my only wish."

Brienne has really missed Saturday mornings with her dad. She knows it’s selfish and a little bit childish, but not being able to spend that time at his kitchen table, lingering over French toast and cups of strong coffee, chatting about whatever’s going on in their lives or in the world, has been hard for her the past few months.

She knows it’s been important that Selwyn get everything running smoothly at the restaurant, even when it means working an insane number of hours, but it doesn’t mean Brienne is happy about it. It feels like when she was a way at school — she’d accepted the reality, but always felt a little bit out of sorts. Even after coaxing Asha into a similar routine, albeit one with a much more hungover companion. Asha definitely appreciated the French toast part, though.

Still, Brienne is filled with a kind of joy she hasn’t felt in a while, when Selwyn tells her he finally has things settled enough to leave young Podrick to get it all started before they open for lunch. 

Of course, she hasn’t been thinking about the Weekly Spyder when she’s been anticipating their breakfast.

To his credit, Selwyn waits until they’re almost done to bring it up, having been chatting quietly about Evenfall’s, the clinic, Sansa’s invitation for them to join the Starks for Christmas dinner. 

“So, when were you going to tell me about your young man?” Selwyn wipes his face with a napkin, eyes sparkling above the white cloth. Brienne just knows he’s smirking behind it.

“He’s not my young man.”

“I haven’t known you to go around kissing many boys.” Selwyn does sound genuinely surprise.

Brienne knows she’s turning a brilliant shade of fuschia.

“I didn’t kiss him, there was mistletoe and — it wasn’t real.”

Her father turns serious. “Did he force himself?”

“No!” Brienne may be horribly embarrassed, but that’s no reason to make it seem like Addam did something awful. “He asked, I was just surprised and …”

“So he was just having fun, he’s not interested in you?”

“He gave me his phone number,” Brienne admits. If only because Selwyn looks like he might find Addam and give him a lesson in treating women well, possibly with his fists. “Asha thinks I should go out with him.”

“She’s always been a smart one, that Asha.”

Her father’s friendship with Asha is terrifying, and there are days when Brienne regrets ever bringing her then-roomate home for a visit. 

“So,” her father prompts. “Do I get to know anything about this gentleman?”

“His name is Addam. Sansa says he’s a lawyer.” Brienne starts clearing the dishes, needing something to do with her hands. “He said he thought we should get to know each other and he’d like it if I gave him a call.” 

“Well, that all sounds promising.” 

“He was probably just pitying me.”

“Starfish, don’t say that.” Selwyn looks so sad, in a way that makes Brienne feel guilty for being the disappointment of a daughter she is. She knows her father doesn’t see it that way, but he also doesn’t seem to understand the things he hopes for her are impossible. “You’re a wonderful girl. I’m sure this Addam will see that.”

“I doubt that.”

Brienne doesn’t know how to put it all into words. How she’s already feeling dangerously close to reviving the spark of dreams she’d held as a child. She doesn’t know if it’s Addam’s kiss, which was pleasant if not movie-worthy and earth-shaking, or the way Jaime had hugged her so unexpectedly and she’d been surrounded by masculine warmth. From someone she wasn’t related to. 

It’s easier not to want these things, the things Brienne knows aren’t for women like her, when she isn’t reminded of them. She does have plenty of love in her life, from her father, from Asha in her own violent and strange way, from her uncles and Goodwin back home. Maybe even from Sansa, someday soon, a fascinatingly determined and fluffy kind of affection that Brienne doesn’t quite understand yet. It’s a lot, more than Brienne ever expected, and she can be happy with that.

But then she has those moments, moments of feeling for a minute that she might get to be like any other woman. The kind of woman men would hug or kiss or … well, Brienne doesn’t even want to think too hard about anything beyond that. 

If she goes out with Addam, Brienne can predict how it will go, even if it’s not a cruel joke. He’ll see her in the light of day, free of the influence of alcohol and mistletoe and whatever party spirit makes people do crazy things. If what Asha and Sansa say are correct, he’ll be very polite about it. They’ll have food or coffee, and everyone will look at them strangely and wonder what such a handsome man is doing with Brienne. Then at the end, he’ll tell her he’s sorry but he doesn’t want to see her again. Maybe, just maybe, if they have a lot in common somehow, he’ll gently explain that he’d like to be friends with her and nothing more. 

But that little part inside Brienne that she can’t seem to kill will get another breath of oxygen. Another hope that a beautiful man could look at her and see something to want and all that comes from that is tears and disappointment.

“I still need to know what you want for Christmas. It’s getting late,” Brienne says, changing the subjet abruptly

Selwyn sighs. “I told you, I don’t need anything.”

“I didn’t ask what you needed.” Brienne knows she’s being unnecessarily short. “I asked what you wanted.” 

“I want you to see yourself like others do.” Selwyn doesn’t let Brienne escape, catching her hands in his. “I want you to give love a chance, I want you to find someone who will see how magnificent you are, and give them the opportunity to love you. That’s my only wish.” 

Brienne finds herself blinking back tears. 

“I can’t buy that at Cregan’s,” she finally grumbles. “Surely you can come up with something else.” 

Selwyn just smiles sadly at her. Brienne sighs. 

This is going to end up nowhere good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's December 21st. HOW IS IT DECEMBER 21ST I AM NOT READY? I finally have come out of the sinus infection haze (all hail antibiotics, a goddamn miracle) and the last thing I clearly remember is December 8th. Despite having written a bunch of fic and two big pieces for work, so uh. Yeah. That happened.
> 
> ANYWAY.
> 
> Poor Brienne. She's got a lot to unpack and the healthier attitudes (it's possible to have a full life with lots of love even if you're not romantically involved) are all tangled up with the unhealthy ones. And also, how did Jaime sneak into this thought process about Addam? Hmmm. TOTAL MYSTERY says Brienne. Note that this takes place a day or so after "Cuddle" from the November prompt, so Brienne has just had her visit with Brenna and thus Tyrion and Jaime.
> 
> Never have there been two people more oblivious to their own feelings. Ah, well. They WILL get there some day, but there will be some other things to go through first.


	22. December 22nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the people that could rescue her from the snow, Brienne would not have chosen Jaime Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I really underestimated the snow."

Brienne really should have listened when Asha told her to get going before the storm hit. But she hadn’t wanted to feed the animals who are boarding or staying to recover too early and she’d had plenty of paperwork to catch up on, plus some research she needs to do. And last time she’d looked, the snow was a gentle drifting of flakes that Brienne still finds so charming.

Only now, the snow is not so gentle. It’s sheets of fat, wet flakes piling up on the roads and sidewalks and everywhere else. Brienne’s car is encased in a mound of white, and while she’s brushed the top off and cleared her windshield, getting out of the parking lot is proving more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. 

Driving forward hasn’t worked. Driving backwards hasn’t worked. Driving forward then back hasn’t worked. Now Brienne is behind her car, pushing as hard as she can, and unable to move it, despite driving a relatively lightweight hybrid. 

Brienne is just about to give up and resigning herself to a long, cold walk home when an overly large, flashy SUV rolls to a stop beside her. 

The surge of relief Brienne feels twists into nerves when she realizes it’s Jaime Lannister rolling down the window. 

He’s absolutely going to have something to say about her predicament.

Sure enough, a slow smirk grows across Jaime’s face as he surveys the scene. Brienne, red and sweaty, strands of hair plastered to her face where they’ve escaped from her hat, shoving valiantly at a car. 

“Problems?” Jaime drawls. Brienne glares at him.

Jaime parks the car and gets out, making a circuit around her hybrid. 

“I really underestimated the snow,” Brienne admits. 

Jaime kicks at the tires.

“You need winter tires,” he informs her. “And a better car.”

“It’s a perfectly fine car.” 

Jaime’s face, as he looks from the car to the snow to the sky, says everything. 

“Fine, can you help me push?” Brienne starts rolling up her sleeves but Jaime shakes his head. 

“No way you’re getting that out without a shovel,” he says. “And maybe some sand.” 

Brienne sighs. “Well at least walking is exercise.”

“What are you talking about?” Jaime looks perplexed. “I’ll give you a ride. Come on.” 

“Oh, I can’t.” Brienne isn’t sure she wants to be trapped in a car right now, not even for a short time, with Jaime. Not after her humiliatingly weak decision to call him about Brenna, or the strange hug he’d offered, probably never thinkng she’d actually accept.

“Do you want to die of hypothermia?”

“It’s not that cold —”

“It is.” Jaime frowns at her. “Get in the car, Brienne.”

The car is warm, at least and comfortable with heated seats when Jaime shoos the teen girl out of the passenger side and into the back next to a quiet blond boy who is staring out the window. 

“Who gets stuck in the snow?” the girl mutters.

“Brienne isn’t from here, Myrcy,” Jaime says sharply. He looks over at Brienne, a small smile on his face. “Sorry about that. We’re working on the attitude.”

“I can hear you,” Myrcy says from the backseat.

Brienne isn’t sure what she is supposed to say to Jaime, since the only safe topic conversation is off limits around the kids. What’s even worse is the drive, usually only fifteen minutes or so, takes twice as long as Jaime inches along on the icy streets. 

Luckily they seem to be the only car out on the road, everyone else having had the sense to get where they needed to be already. 

“Are you sure it’s not out of your way?” Brienne has asked already, but she can’t help it, as they edge past the homes closest to downtown. 

“It’s fine.” Jaime glances over. “I can’t let you freeze, can I? Addam will be disappointed.”

“Our house is five blocks back there,” Myrcy says, jerking a thumb at the rearview. Then she goes back to her phone.

Brienne turns red with embarrassment, not sure if it’s from making Jaime go out of his way or yet another person having seen that stupid photo. 

“I hate Varys,” she says. “It’s not — it was mistletoe, I’m sure he didn’t mean it, it’s not anything. Addam wouldn’t even notice.”

Jaime laughs a little. “I’m sure he’d notice.”

“Addam and I have been friends for years,” he says, after they’ve crept past a few more houses. “I’m sure he meant it but he’s well … I wouldn’t take it too seriously.”

Brienne stiffens. So much for what Asha and Sansa say, she’s been right all along. There’s something behind Addam’s strange behavior.

Something of what she is thinking must show on her face, because Jaime glances over again and hastily explains further. 

“I mean, he would definitely mean to kiss you,” Jaime says, his voice skipping weirdly as he says it. “Addam’s just, well.” Jaime glances at the backseat. “Addam likes women. A lot.” 

Brienne isn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

“I mean, he’s definitely, uh, a good time,” Jaime continues. “If that’s what you’re looking for. And he’s not going to be a jerk he just isn’t so much a long time as a good time.”

Jaime pauses, then speaks again. “A long-term time. Addam would kill me if I made him sound less than excellent at … ahem.”

Brienne’s face heats up even more as she realizes exactly what Jaime is implying. Which is certainly not what she’s looking for. 

“I mean, maybe he’s changed,” Jaime rambles. “I don’t mean to make him sound terrible. If he was going to settle down, you’re probably exactly the type of woman he’d pick.” 

“Boring and grateful,” Brienne offers, only somewhat bitterly. She’s heard that kind of reassurance before, of what men will settle for eventually.

Jaime gives her a strange look.

“Strong and intelligent and not going to take any of his bullshit.” Jaime looks in the rearview. 

“You said bullshit,” Myrcy announces. “I thought we weren’t supposed to swear.”

“You’re not supposed to swear,” Jaime says. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want.” 

“Anyway, just some advice.” Jaime gives her a little smile. “It’s easy to get taken in by Addam’s charm.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to call him.” Brienne manages to give Jaime a small smile in return. “He probably doesn’t — I know I’m not the kind of woman men want for any sort of time.”

Jaime’s smile grows. “You can smile,” he says, sounding surprised. “I thought that scowl was permanently affixed to your face.”

Then they’re finally pulling up to Brienne’s building. It’s perfectly nice, but Jaime makes a little face at it. 

“You should smile more wench,” Jaime says. “It makes your eyes look even nicer.” 

He shuts the door before Brienne can object to being referred to as wench. Maybe the cold is getting to everyone, because that is certainly the strangest car ride Brienne has ever had. But she’ll worry about it later, after she’s inside and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may note the chapter number has changed - I'm working up an extra long Christmas day chapter as well. 
> 
> Poor Jaime, he's just trying to look out for everyone. His friend. The cat wench. He's just very good at looking out for people, that's all.


	23. December 23rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a lot of cookies to feed all the people at a Stark family Christmas. Sansa doesn't mind baking, especially when her girlfriend helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Trade you a vanilla crescent for a kiss."

“Did a cookie explosion happen while I slept?”

Sansa grins as Margaery makes her way out of Sansa’s bedroom. She’s wearing nothing but her candy cane striped panties and the Christmas sweater she’d worn the previous night. 

Sansa would like nothing more than to drag Margaery back to bed immediately, but her hands are covered in dough and also she has a deadline.

“For Christmas Eve,” Sansa says. The oven dings and Sansa curses. “Can you grab those?”

Margaery still looks perplexed as she grabs the tray of snickerdoodles from oven and puts them on the towel Sansa indicates. 

“The ones on the rack can go in that tin,” Sansa says. 

“How long have you been awake?” Margaery blinks at the counter. “And how many cookies are you making?”

“Six,” Sansa says. “And I don’t know. Ten dozen? Eleven? Give or take.”

She finishes rolling the last of the snickerdoodles in sugar and cinnamon, putting the trays in the oven and rinsing her hands. 

“Spritz,” Sansa says, pointing at cookie tins. “Vanilla crescents, Grandfather cookies, snickerdoodles, and there are merry cheescakes in the in fridge. All that’s left are jam thumbprints and gingerbread men, if you want to help decorate?” 

Sansa feels suddenly uncertain. She’s not sure how much time she and Margaery are supposed to be spending together at this point. Their date technically started Friday night, and they spent Friday night and Saturday night at Marge’s, coming back to Sansa’s on Sunday after church. They’d snuck in late, taking a pew at the back to avoid having to pick a family to sit with. Maybe Margaery wants to go home. 

“That’s a lot of cookies,” is all Margaery says. 

“Fourteen people,” Sansa reminds her. “Well, seventeen for dinner, I convinced Brienne and her father to come.”

Then she sees Margaery’s hand sneaking toward a tin of spritz cookies. Sansa reaches out and slaps it away.

“No snacking!” 

Margaery pouts. It makes Sansa want to forget the cookies and haul Margaery onto a counter to do things that are definitely not sanitary in a baking environment. 

“But breakfast,” Margaery whines. 

“Cranberry orange muffins.” Sansa points to the top of the fridge. “They should still be warm, I think. Sleepyhead.”

Margaery sticks her tongue out. It makes Sansa think even more inappropriate thoughts, mostly about where Marge’s tongue was last night and how much more fun that would be than making cookies. And Sansa loves making cookies. 

Still, Margaery fixes a muffin without complaint, sitting at the table and trying to contain the crumbs. Sansa can’t resist kissing her on the top her head as Sansa walks past, gathering ingredients to make the gingerbread dough that needs to chill. 

“Love your muffins, Sans,” Margaery says it with a smirk that is downright lewd. 

“No distractions.” Sansa mixes a little more vigorously than needed. Batter slops over the edge of the bowl. Marge leans over to swipe a finger through it, sucking the dough off while batting her eyelashes.

Baking cookies isn’t exactly easier with Margaery around, lounging on the chair with no pants, making suggestive comments and trying to seduce Sansa back to bed. But it is more fun, sitting together and pushing their thumbs into the thumbprint batter, filling the wells with different flavors of jam and cutting out gingerbread men.

Unsurprisingly, Margaery proves excellent at decorating the cookies. Sansa sticks to the typical icing outlines and faces, but Marge goes all-out, making different gingerbread people. She even does Finn, Poe, and Rey from the new Star Wars movie, obligingly holding them up while Sansa snaps photos.

“This is fun,” Margaery comments as they’re working through the last trays of cookies. She finishes piping icing on a very detailed Santa. 

“You family doesn’t bake?” 

“My mother shouldn’t be allowed near a kitchen unless you want someone dead,” Margaery says. “And Grandmother is more of a cook. She doesn’t bake really. Her coq au vin is fantastic. We order cookies — this year I think we’re getting Seven Sisters.” 

Well, at least they’re good cookies. Sansa shudders in horror to think of eating plain, boxed grocery store cookies at Christmas. 

“They aren’t home baked, though,” Margaery says, as they finish packing up the gingerbread. 

Sansa purses her lips. “These are for Christmas.”

“Aw, come on.” Margaery bats her eyelashes again. “Trade you a vanilla crescent for a kiss.”

“You’ll kiss me anyway,” Sansa says. But she hands over the cookie, and Margaery squeals with delight.

A vanilla crescent, it turns out, can get Sansa a lot more than a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Margaery. Nobody is really prepared for dating a Stark. 
> 
> Most of the cookies are straightforward, but [Merry Cheesecakes](https://www.cooks.com/recipe/uq2fv53g/merry-cheesecakes.html) seem to have a couple of versions and this is the correct one. Must have nuts, must not have those gross red and green cherries.
> 
> Grandfather cookies are the name we gave a cookie in my family because they were my grandfather's favorite — for the life of me, I can't find the correct recipe, I can find things close, but not right so here goes. Get a tube of peanut butter cookie dough from the store. These are hard to find lately, so if you must, make your own. Get a bunch of mini Reese's cups. Ideally, obtain a child of midling age to help unwrap Reese's cups. Cut the peanut butter cookie slices into quarters and put them in a greased mini muffin tin. Bake at 350 for about 8 minutes, they should be mostly done but not quite. Take the pan out and stick the mini Reese's in the center of each cookie while still warm. Stick back in the oven for another 2 or 3 minutes. Cool in tray 5 minutes then on a rack. 
> 
> Variations using Hershey Kisses and non-peanut butter dough are not acceptable.


	24. December 24th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to church on Christmas Eve is definitely a thing families do, but Jaime is sure it's not supposed to be quite this difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I love this season"

“I love this season,” Tyrion mutters, voice as dry as the Sahara.

Jaime glares from where he’s kneeling down to finish buttoning Tommen’s red shirt. Myrcella is already dressed in her sparkly red dress and green tights. She’s still sulking about not being allowed the sleeveless one that was too tight and too short for her age, in Jaime’s opinion. 

“I didn’t know he was going to come.” Jaime looks again at his phone. The text from Tywin is still there, informing Jaime he will meet the family at church for the afternoon service. 

Tywin hasn’t been to church since...well, Jaime doesn’t know when. Not that Jaime goes either, but Christmas and Easter seem like the kind of thing he should be doing with the kids. 

Maybe he should be taking them every week? Jaime really doesn’t know.

“I hope he bursts into flame when he crosses the doorstep,” Tyrion continues. 

“I thought that would be you,” Jaime says.

“I’m not evil, I’m debauched.” Tyrion smooths out his jacket. “There’s a difference.” 

Jaime isn’t entirely sure that’s the official viewpoint of religion, but who knows? It certainly wouldn’t be acceptable at Preacher Sparrow’s church, but Father Meribald has always seemed a fairly reasonable guy. Jaime may not do religion, but he appreciates a clergy member who’s up for a couple of beers and a game of pool at Littlefinger’s.

The church is beautiful, evergreen wreaths and garlands strung along the stone walls, poinsettias on the altar. It smells like pine and incense and Jaime is suddenly thrown back to a memory of walking into this same church with his parents. He had his mother’s hand on one side, Cersei on the other, and Joanna’s stomach was gently rounded with pregnancy. It must have been the last time Jaime was in a church for Christmas. He remembers snuggling into his mother’s fur coat while the service went on, the sound of his mother telling Tywin not to bother them when he tried to make Jaime sit up and pay attention.

“Let’s find a pew with people in it.” Tyrion’s voice interrupts Jaime’s reminiscing. “Then he’ll have to sit somewhere else.”

Jaime doesn’t think that will stop Tywin, but it’s worth a shot. The choir is singing hymns as people file in, and though they’re half an hour early, the church is rapidly filling up. The Starks take up a couple of pews on their own, the Tyrells another at the front, Olenna’s holly topped hat standing out in the crowd. 

Jaime recognizes the curly, dark hair of Tommen’s teacher, who is standing next to a slim, bald man that also looks familiar. Both of them wave at Tommen, who eagerly waves back, when they see the group.

There’s another pew with the Boltons spread out, taking up too much space but Jaime is not touching that spot with a ten foot pole, nope, he likes living very much. 

Then Jaime spots a now-familiar blond head towering over the crowd. “I know just the place.”

Unsurprisingly, Brienne scowls at them as they file into the pew. The man next to her is even taller, with salt and pepper hair and a beard that’s more salt than pepper. His eyes are the same stunning blue as Brienne’s, though, so he must be her father.

“I thought I told you to smile more, wench.” Jaime grins at her as she focuses very hard on her bulletin. “It is Christmas after all.”

Brienne opens her mouth to retort, then looks at the children sitting next to Jaime.

“Yes it is,” she says, though she sounds like she’s not merry about it at all. Her father, who has been watching them, seems deeply amused. 

Jaime thinks they might actually get away with Tyrion’s plan, at least until there’s a clearing throat and Tywin is looming at the edge of the pew. Or trying to. Next to Selwyn, Jaime’s father isn’t impressive at all. 

It’s deeply satisfying.

“If you might excuse us,” Tywin says. Jaime sees Aunt Genna hovering behind him. Uncle Kevan is sure to be close behind. “I would like to sit with my son and grandchildren.”

“Sons,” Tyrion grumbles next to Jaime, loud enough to be heard by all.

Jaime can tell Brienne is about to agree and grabs her wrist before she can move. 

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses in her ear. Then raises his voice. “They were here first, I’m afraid.” 

Tywin stares at Jaime. Jaime stares back. 

“Well then, let’s find another spot.” 

Jaime makes a show of looking around. “It’s pretty crowded.”

“There are other pews,” Brienne offers. She hasn’t jerked free of Jaime’s grasp, though she certainly is strong enough to do so.

“This one suits me fine.” Jaime keeps staring at his father, not breaking, until Tywin seems to realize other people are looking and he’s causing a scene. 

Tywin can’t give up entirely, of course, and there’s a flurry of whispers and shuffling, and then the rest of the Lannisters are filing into the pew behind them. Though Tryion and Jaime do squish over to make room for Joy, because Lancel is glowering at her and taking up more than his fair share of space. 

It puts Jaime closer to Brienne and he is surprised to smell flowers and something that makes him think of the ocean. He sniffs again just to be sure. 

“I didn’t take you for a perfume type,” Jaime says. Brienne’s knuckles turn white where she’s clenching her hymnal. 

“It’s nice,” Jaime adds hastily, before she can punch him. “I like it.” 

Brienne doesn’t get a chance to respond, because the processional is starting and Jaime is left scrambling to find his place in the service. Some of the words come back surprisingly easy, like they’re buried deep in his memory. The hymns, at least, are familiar Christmas songs. Tommen mouths the words, but Jaime can hear Aunt Genna’s full-throated soprano behind him and Brienne’s surprisingly pleasant alto voice next to him. 

After Father Meribald says “The peace of the Lord is always with you” and the congregation responds “And also with you,” Jaime can’t help needling Brienne by taking her outstretched hand and pulling her into a hug instead. 

Brienne is as sturdy as she was before, and Jaime feels the same odd urge to linger there, leaning on the strength of this woman who is still a virtual stranger. 

Jaime notices Aunt Genna hugging Selwyn a bit longer than is necessary and raises an eyebrow at the way Brienne’s father gazes down at Genna’s ample cleavage. Tywin is as stiff as usual, shaking hands with both children. Brienne’s father looks back and then gathers both kids into big hugs while Tywin looks on with a scowl. Even Myrcella seems pleased by it, probably because Selwyn gives off the kind of air that seems like he could be anyone’s grandfather.

Well, not Jaime’s, because he was as uptight and disproving as Tywin, but the idealized kind of grandfather. 

Tyrion is smirking at Jaime as they finish up, and Jaime has a brief moment of panic as he wonders what his brother could be plotting now. But then it’s gone in a rush as they go through communion, Jaime guiding both kids up, Tommen looking wide-eyed as Father Meribald blesses him and an altar boy hands him a cookie instead of the bread and wine the others are getting. Myrcella looks jealously at the cookie as they return to their seats. 

Even Brienne is smiling as the entire church holds small candles for the final hymn, Silent Night sounding strong in the church and a golden glow on everyone’s faces. Tyrion manages to be serious for once as well and as Jaime looks over at his brother and his niece and nephew, he can’t help feeling like a real family for once. Not a perfect one, but one that for once is doing the things you’re meant to do on a holiday. 

It all ends, of course, as the candles go out and Father Meribald raises his arms at the back of the church to proclaim “Let us go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of the holy spirit and the word of God made flesh for all mankind. Let us remember the innocence of the Christchild and carry the spirit of Christmas with us through the year.” 

Tywin does not carry the spirit of Christmas, not even for a few moments, growling at Jaime as everyone is filing out. Jaime tries not to hear him, collecting coats and trying to herd Myrcella and Tommen to the car. 

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Tyrion says. 

“You said fuck,” Myrcella says from the backseat. “If Uncle Tyrion can say fuck, I should be able to say fuck.”

Jaime sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve everyone!!
> 
> I've been unsure about dragging too much religion into this, but small town Westeros strikes me as the kind of small town where going to church is A Thing. 
> 
> As for fic — I like this fic and real-time prompts so much, I can't quit. Sorry not sorry? Anyway, I'll be adding prompts to this through the end of December so don't unsub just because we hit Christmas. ;) 
> 
> I'm also working up January prompts since it's a month light on prompt lists. I likely will not publish everyday, as I'm working on shaping this 'verse into a more cohesive fic, but I want to keep writing them and moving the story along this way. SO. If you have word, phrase, or dialogue ideas that you'd like to see, drop them in the comments! I'm not taking specific plot point or full scene ideas, but I'd love to get some fun dialogue or creative phrase prompts for this little town!


	25. December 25th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day brings different celebrations for all of small town Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all those celebrating! There's no prompt for this, but I thought you'd all like a (rather long) peek at Christmas day in Westeros, the little town. For best reading, re-read "Basket" from the November prompts, as it is the earliest part of Christmas morning, and then this picks up sometime after.

It's been years since any of the Starks were actual children, but that doesn't mean there's not a stampede downstairs every Christmas. Even Sam, who now spends the night crashing with Jon, gets into it and Sansa is pretty sure he never had this kind of free-wheeling Christmas in his childhood.

By Christmas morning, the tree is almost obscured by presents, stacked up so they cover some of the lower branches. Every year Sansa's father gripes about how it's out of control and they need to scale it back. Then it never happens.

Then again, Sansa doesn't really see how it could. Even if everyone only gave each person one gift, there are still thirteen of them. Fourteen if you include Syrio, who doesn't come until dinner. Sixteen if Jon's parents show up -- thankfully they haven't this year. Sansa hasn't done the math but with all the gift-giving combinations, it's still a fuckton of presents. 

Still, they all dig into their stockings like they're kids again. Although now they wait until coffee and tea has brewed, and they have all filled Christmas mugs and the smell of breakfast casserole is starting to fill the air. Sansa helps her mother with the final steps before it goes in the oven, just like she has been since she was a teenager, and they move easily in the kitchen, passing whisks and baking dishes.

It's nice, and her mother smiles at her just like always, not with the half-alarmed looks she's been giving Sansa since the ugly sweater party. Even after they talked.

Stocking gifts are small, but Sansa thinks they sometimes end up being the best. Rickon has already started stuffing candy in his mouth as Sansa starts digging into her stocking, because of course _he_ didn’t quite wait until Sansa and Cat were done.. Arya starts shooting flying Christmas elves across the room, trying to hit Jon in the face, and Sam is marveling over a credit card-sized survival tool. Jon, meanwhile, is wrapping his new blanket scarf around his neck already and Robb is crowing over his travel side Moscow Mule kit and bacon band-aids. Ned is admiring his new whisky stones and Cat is exclaiming over her sassy kitchen towels.

Sansa can't help lunging across the sofa to hug her mother when she digs past the face masks and her favorite Benefit mascara to find a necklace with a tiny rainbow flag. 

"Thanks mom," she says, face buried in her mother's shoulder.

"Don't thank me, thank Santa," Cat says, but she's smiling and stroking Sansa's hair the way she used to do when Sansa was younger.

Then the doorbell rings, and it's Grandfather with Edmure and Brynden. All too soon, everyone else is there and it's a whirlwind of wrapping paper and shouting. Even Robin gets into it, and he's still in the sullen, too cool for everything teen years. Sansa is pleased to see Rickon pull his skull and crossbones hat on immediately, and even Aunt Lysa seems to like her hat, which Sansa bought a very expensive silk blend to make.

But the best part comes after the gifts. After Sansa has exclaimed politely over Rickon's annual set of bath products, because he really has no idea about women, and tried to figure out what the obscure books Sam has found are about, is when they all settle down in the den with second helpings of casserole or cheese and salami from the platter Edmure brings and put in White Christmas. The adults get the furniture and everyone else the floor. Sansa can usually get Robb to braid her hair if she asks enough and sometimes Arya will let Sansa paint her nails red and green. There's wrapping paper everywhere and the fire is glowing and it just feels like home.

* * *

It feels strange to celebrate with just two people at Christmas. It isn't as if Tarth Christmases were ever huge, but Brienne is used to at least a couple of other people being around. 

Still, they rally as best they can. Once the coffee is brewing, Selwyn starts making the crepes for Swedish pancakes and frying perfect eggs, while Brienne takes charge of the bacon and breakfast potatoes liberally seasoned with garlic and paprika. While they cook, Selwyn tells Brienne the story about the first year he had this breakfast, staying at her mother's parent's house when they'd first married. He'd loved it so much he asked her grandmother to teach him to make it immediately, but he didn't gain enough trust until they'd been married for five years.

Brienne misses Christmas stockings, but they gradually stopped doing them as Brienne got older, and she hasn’t figured out a good way to bring them back. Not that she knows what one would put in stockings for adults. After breakfast, gifts are a leisurely affair, as much to drag out a morning usually spent conversing with family and old friends as anything.

Brienne opens a calendar of cats stoned out of their minds on catnip and a hand-carved cat statue in Tarth’s marble from her uncles, a book she’s been wanting from Goodwin and a beautiful paw-shaped pendant with gemstones in it from their old neighbor, who has been something of a surrogate grandmother to Brienne. Her father gives her a cast iron skillet that could double as a weapon, considering how heavy it is. She’s already drinking her coffee out of Asha’s gift, a mug that warns people not to argue with her because she neuters for a living. 

Brienne is pleased to see her father is thrilled with his new book. It’s not what he wants, she knows, but since she can’t give herself the happy future her father wants, it’s the best he’ll get. 

“Maybe next year, we’ll have a young man of yours here with us,” Selwyn says because of course he’s not letting it go. 

Brienne sighs. 

* * *

If Shireen had just a little more backbone, she’d cut off all contact with her family. But she doesn’t, so she concedes to Christmas together. Or as together as one can be with divorced parents who work together but speak no more than necessary for business. 

So Shireen wakes up at the crack of dawn and pulls out the modest grey dress she keeps at the back of her closet. High neck and full, ankle length skirt with sleeves that billow out to cinch at the wrists. She pulls her hair back in a severe braid that exposes her scars to everyone, but she’s too old to wear her hair loose, according to her mother’s standards. Then Shireen meets Selyse at the church and sits next to her mother in an uncomfortable pew, wood digging into her legs as Preacher Sparrow thunders on about sin and hellfire and the world of pain awaiting everyone who doesn’t follow the true way of God. 

Shireen isn’t sure if he’s really staring at her through all of this, but she wouldn’t put it past him. 

It’s miserable and cold and Christmas itself only gets a brief mention before Sparrow is off onto the eternal fires of hell again.

Shireen slips out after the service, skipping the Bible study and the pitying looks from congregants who wonder what she did to deserve her scars and lament her mother’s misfortune to have such a sinful child who has turned away from the church.

Then Shireen makes her way home to change before heading out to Wildling’s, the one place always open on Christmas because Mance believes everyone should have a place to go, and meets her father.

Stannis sits stiffly at a table, even though there’s plenty of comfortable chairs available. He drinks his one cup of black coffee and inquires politely after Shireen’s job, how much she has in savings, has she been flossing, if she has started thinking about her taxes yet, and slides her a small wrapped gift. Shireen gives him the same thing she does every year, a pound of the good coffee she knows he likes but he thinks is too frivolous to buy for himself. Stannis makes a pleased noise when he opens it, like it’s somehow still remarkable after five years of receiving the same gift.

Shireen unwraps her box and finds a set of tiny screws in a black case.

“For fixing things like your computer,” Stannis says. “I know everyone just throws them out now if they break, but it’s very wasteful.”

Shireen has never fixed a computer in her life, but she smiles and says thank you. She’ll tuck the screws away in her toolbox (Christmas four years ago), with all her other tools (two years ago) and store it next to the small saw (last year) and the rubber mallet (six years ago and surprisingly useful). 

Shireen asks after his dental practice, carefully avoiding any mention of her mother or Melisandre, and how he’s been eating. Stannis has read yet another research paper about longevity. It suggests people eat fewer calories live longer, so now he’s carefully monitoring what he eats to get as low as he can while maintaining his weight. Shireen nods politely. It’s a new thing every year. Last year had been a square of dark chocolate every day, which honestly seems like a much better habit. Shireen might have taken that one up herself. 

Then Stannis is gone and Shireen can finally relax, collapsing back in a chair and glancing around. There’s only a few older folks here so far, the ones whose families have moved away and don’t visit, but she knows it will fill up over time with Christmas orphans that have nowhere to go.

* * *

As far as Asha’s concerned, Christmas and all it’s spectacle can fuck right off, though she never says no to the Stark’s annual feast. She’s not stupid. But even when Hannukah falls on the same nights Asha’s never really cared about the December madness.

She’s not that religious, to start, not when her mother died so young and all the things they did as a family disappeared. No more temple services or shabbos dinners. The Greyjoy side are atheists way back, with the occasional Norse revivalist, racism optional. But even if she’s not much for religious practice in general, Asha knows that Hannukah isn’t even a major holiday. She mostly celebrated for Theon when they were younger, because she’s glad the Starks practically adopted him but Asha isn’t about to let her brother forget their family, forget their mother’s family and get swallowed up by what everyone else does.

Asha didn’t spend hours listening to her grandmother talking about everyone that’s been lost and showing the tattoo on her arm to let Theon forget who he is and what it means. 

But Val celebrates Christmas, at least somewhat, though she also dragged Asha out at the crack of dawn on the winter solstice, Val having stayed awake all night, to watch the sunrise in some pagan-ish ritual.

The celebration of life and light returning that followed was much more fun, considering it basically amounted to fucking each other senseless for hours. 

Showing up on Christmas Eve in bows (Asha ultimately couldn’t choose and so wrapped both tits and cunt in large ribbons) definitely went over well. And Val has insisted on lighting Asha’s menorah, the one her mother had owned, and making latkes as well. Val even wants to have Theon over one night of Hannukah though Asha isn’t really sure how to explain the hot mess that is her brother to her girlfriend. 

Still, it isn’t bad to wake up sometime close to noon on Christmas, nowhere to be until evening, because they crawled back into bed after the morning chores and stayed there, just sleeping. Val even sleeps elegantly, curled up slightly on her side, hands tucked under her pillow. It makes Asha feel a suspiciously emotional ache in her heart.

Then Val gets up and makes cinnamon rolls and the wood stove is crackling away and maybe Asha can concede that it may not be _her_ holiday but Christmas doesn’t have to be so bad.

* * *

Daenerys finds herself at a bit of a loss when it comes to Christmas in Westeros. She hadn’t felt like going back to see her family across the Narrow Sea but now she’s adrift. She’s given the animals all their Christmas treats (mice or vegetables, as appropriate) and opened the box of gifts from her mother and brother, which are fine. Rhaegar’s even managed to send a gift this year, though Dany isn’t sure where he thinks she’s going to wear a diamond and ruby necklace that must have cost several hundred dollars. 

There’s even a card from Rhaenys. Daenerys wishes she knew her niece and nephew better, though she understands why Elia wants nothing to do with the family whatsoever. And it seems odd that they’re older than she is. Still, it feels sad not to know any of her extended family, though she supposes she could look up Jon Snow now that she’s here in Westeros. Certainly Aegon is probably never going to get over what Rhaegar did to his mother, never mind that Daenerys was still a baby at the time. 

Daenerys is so busy musing as she walks the quiet streets, twinkling with lights but devoid of people and all the shops with their doors locked and windows shuttered, she almost misses the light coming from Wildling’s. 

To her surprise, there’s a small crowd gathered. She recognizes a few of the people from her store, but she’s most pleased to see Brienne again. Dany means to make time to talk more with both Brienne and Asha, but she’s been so busy since their initial meeting to discuss stock for Dragon’s Egg.

Brienne is sitting with a tall man who must be her father, they have the same blue eyes, even if Selwyn is dark (or was, he’s more salt and pepper now) where Brienne is almost as blond as Dany herself, and a woman with dark curls and burn scars on her face.

Something warm settles in Dany’s stomach when she joins them and Selwyn immediately introduces himself and starts asking the kind of concerned questions Dany imagines a father might ask. From Brienne’s eye roll, it isn’t unusual for the man.

“Well, my cobra is probably the most unusual,” Dany is saying to Selwyn, when Shireen whips her head around.

“I’m sorry, your WHAT?” 

Shireen, it turns out, teaches elementary school and Dany is absolutely delighted to share all the information she has about her pets. They exchange cards and Shireen promises to get in touch to arrange a demonstration or field trip.

Selwyn, meanwhile, is fretting about Dany’s safety around a cobra and insisting she make sure to the clinic knows to have anti-venom on hand. Which, shamefully, is something Dany hasn’t thought of before. 

“So Brienne,” Dany finally says, because she really can’t resist. “What’s with the photo of you from the paper?”

Brienne turns a shade of red Dany didn’t know humans were capable of, and she almost feels bad for asking. 

“You never know,” Shireen says, after Briene has stumbled through an explanation and denial that Addam could possibly interested. Which is not at all what Dany sees in the photo, as far as she can tell, Addam looks _very_ interested. “I didn’t think guys would look twice at me and well …”

Shireen gestures at herself in a way that means something, though Dany isn’t sure what.

“I’m not exactly sexy,” Shireen says. “But I met Rickon and …”

Then it’s Shireen turning a spectacular shade of scarlet. 

Selwyn shakes his head. 

“You’re all beautiful, kind, smart young women,” he tells them. “Any man or woman would be lucky to have any of you, and you deserve exactly what you want.”

By the time Brienne and her father have to leave, Dany is left with a feeling of warmth and contentment that makes it feel a lot more like Christmas. 

* * *

As terribly over-decorated and eye-bleedingly festive as Jaime’s apartment is, Tyrion would much rather spend the entire day there than make the trip to their father’s for the obligatory family dinner.

Casterly Rock. Who the fuck names their house anyway?

At least at Jaime’s, the kids were tearing into their presents and Tommen had even managed to say a few words to each of his uncles. Tyrion is not too proud to say he choked up a little at that. The kittens also had a delightful time romping about in the mess of paper and pouncing on every bow they could. Brenna, as far as Tyrion can tell, spent the entire day sleeping on Jaime’s bed. 

Tyrion isn’t planning to get a pet anytime soon, but he is starting to see why some people see the appeal. 

The table at Casterly is set with the finest china and silver, crystal glasses at every plate. Tommen and Myrcella are uncomfortable in a suit and formal dress. Tywin had sighed and rolled his eyes at Jaime’s Christmas tie, which makes Tyrion consider getting himself one for next year, and then sighed even louder when Tommen hesitantly whispered to his grandfather about his gift of kittens. 

Tommen’s face falls and he goes silent again. Tyrion is going to kill Tywin himself if this sets Tommen back into another period of not talking. From the look on Jaime’s face, he feels the same way. 

Thankfully Aunt Genna arrives to shepherd the kids away, clutching Tommen to her ample bosom in a maternal sort of way.

“Actually,” Tyrion says over slices of prime rib, when Tywin asks about the bookstore with a tone of disdain. “We’re profitable this year. And we got a lot of new business from the holiday party, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t continue.”

Tywin looks like he’s bitten into something sour. 

“That was a lovely party,” Aunt Genna says. “I didn’t think it would work but it was so festive and nice to see all the businesses get involved.”

“I found a lot of new stores,” Joy says. “Downtown is really growing.”

“It used to be like that,” Uncle Kevan starts, and Tyrion tunes him out as he goes on long, rambling tangent about the glory days of Westeros, when it was right on a convenient railway stop. When more people still used trains.

“A lot of useless expense on frivolity,” Tywin grumbles.

Uncle Devan clears his throat. “Actually, we received quite a few calls from clients, letting us know how pleased they were to see us taking part.”

Tywin still looks unimpressed. “We’re the only bank in town, where would they go?’

“Online banking is really getting big,” Lancel says earnestly. “A lot of younger people are using it. No overhead on buildings lets the charge lower fees and give higher interest.”

“And when something goes wrong, then what? Where do people go? Who do they talk to?” Tywin demands. Lancel shrugs.

“It doesn’t hurt to be well-liked in the community,” Aunt Genna says. “Well worth the cost of a little eggnog.”

The conversation doesn’t improve much as dinner drags on. Tywin finds reasons to criticize everyone, from Jaime not living up to Tywin’s standards at work to Myrcella’s fraternizing with older boys and Tommen’s lack of manliness.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Jaime says bitterly as they’re leaving. Myrcella doesn’t even call him out on it. “Business and interest rates, how festive.” 

“At least we had this morning,” Tyrion says. Which had been fun, once he returned to Jaime’s to be let in, acting as if it were the first time. While the children got enough toys to stock a small store, Tyrion was especially pleased to see Tommen curling up with a sleeping kitten and a stack of the books Tyrion had picked out for him. 

Now would be the time Jaime and Tyrion headed to Littlefingers, where Sandor would be sure to be opening the bar. But Jaime has the kids to shepherd into an SUV and go home for whatever it is normal(ish) families do at night. Or whatever Jaime thinks they do, based on years of sitcoms. Tyrion feels oddly bereft as he watches the car disappear.

Well, there’s nothing saying he can’t go to Littlefinger’s alone. Maybe Ros will be free again, that would be a merry Christmas indeed.

* * *

If Brienne thought Sansa was a hurricane, the girl has nothing on her family. Brienne has never seen so many people crammed into one house. Her father, of course, immediately takes to it, greeting Catelyn with a big hug and doing the manly hug and shoulder slap routine with Ned and Sansa’s uncles as Sansa goes through a dizzying round of introductions.

“We brought cannoli,” Brienne says, somewhat weakly, holding the tray out for Sansa’s mother to take. 

Cat beams and directs Brienne to toss her coat in the downstairs guest room, where there’s a towering pile. 

Brienne is very grateful for the mug of mulled wine someone passes her. She’s not sure who.

“First year?” A chubby man with a short beard emerges next to Brienne. She recognizes him from the strange picnic at the bakery. “It’s a lot.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people in one house before,” Brienne tells him

The man, who introduces himself as Samwell Tarly, tells Brienne he’s been celebrating with the Starks for years, but admits it takes some getting used to.

“My family are a bag of dicks,” Sam says cheerfully. “Well, my sister’s all right, and my mother might be if she didn’t listen to my father, but she does so there you are. I’d stuck it out on my own for a while but Jon wouldn’t hear of it once we became partners.” 

“They’re great for adopting us strays.” Asha drapes herself over Brienne’s shoulder, already full of Christmas cheer. In the form of rum, if the glass she has in her hand is any indication. “Even if we don’t celebrate.”

“And we stopped Robb from putting up too much mistletoe.” Sansa’s younger sister looks angry about the very idea of mistletoe. Brienne approves.

“It didn’t work anyway.” The redheaded man looks morose. Brienne assumes he must be Robb. 

“You,” Asha says, words slurring slightly as she points at Robb. “Need to do less kissing and more thinking.” She turns on Brienne next, wagging a finger in her face. “And you need to do less thinking and more kissing.” 

“Here here!” Sansa cheers. “And I have some ideas on who.”

“Kissing is stupid,” her sister says. 

“Arya!” Sansa looks positively offended. “What about Gendry?”

Arya looks like she wants to murder someone. Brienne really does like her. “Gendry is a stupid boy. Boys are stupid. And so are girls.” The last part is almost an afterthought, clearly directed at Sansa and Asha.

“You’ll never escape now,” Theon says, looking at Brienne with something like pity. “Once Sansa starts matchmaking for you, you’re stuck for life.”

Brienne does manage to escape, if only for a few moments. Cat shoos her out of the kitchen when she tries to help, and her father is busy drinking scotch in the backyard with the uncles, smoking cigars around the side of the house where they aren’t visible. 

At least Brienne only gets stuck under the remaining mistletoe once, with Sansa’s grandfather, who gives her a very dignified kiss on the cheek and tells her to keep an eye out for the ruffians by the vet’s office.

At dinner, at least, Brienne is sandwiched between people who are less likely to torment her. Ned’s brother is to one side, an easy-going air about him as he loads his plate. To her other side is Sansa’s little brother, who does not live up to the name at all, towering even over Brienne. Rickon looks like he’s bored out of his mind, but he’s polite enough. It’s a very quiet section of the table, for which Brienne is profoundly thankful, as they pass around a stunning array of dishes, including a large ham and an actual goose. 

“Goose is all right,” Benjen says. “But I prefer elk. You ever have elk?” 

Brienne can only shake her head. 

Sansa and Asha don’t let their obsession with Brienne’s lack of love life go after dinner either, as the crowd spreads out with plates of pie and cookies. 

“You’re very likeable,” Sansa says earnestly. “Uncle Edmure, isn’t Brienne dateable?”

Edmure gives Brienne a look up and down, then shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

“Uncle Edmure will sleep with anything that’s got a pulse and identifies as female,” Arya says dryly. “No offense.”

“You’re as bad as Shireen,” Brienne says, when Sam starts going off on a tangent about thinking one isn’t dateable but then finding out maybe it’s not true to everyone.

Rickon seems to come out of his haze at that. “You know Shireen?”

“My neighbor,” Brienne says. Sansa erupts in a fit of giggles, explaining between them that Rickon is smitten with Shireen, positively oozing delight over what is clearly out-of-character behavior for the man. Rickon flushes a faint shade of pink, contrasting starkly with his red hair and overall tough demeanor.

“And she’s an elementary school teacher,” Sansa crows. Bran spits out his drink in surprise, hitting Jon, who shoves whipped cream in his face in retaliation. 

Brienne wonders if this is what having siblings is like. She’s always wondered what would happen if her brother and sisters had survived infancy. Or even if her uncles had married and had children. Suddenly, Brienne’s less upset about having spent her whole life as the only child in the entire family.

Bran is snickering. “Does she wear cute little sweaters and skirts?”

“And lots of pink,” Sansa confirms. 

Brienne looks at Rickon and tries to put him with the gushing comments Shireen has been making. It’s very difficult to do, although it’s somewhat easier to imagine Rickon in regards to Shireen’s less than appropriate stories. Which Brienne doesn’t need to be doing, because Rickon is barely into his 20s and also Brienne is turning red. 

“I dig it,” Asha says. “Sometimes you look at pretty girls like that and you just want to be the one to mess them up.”

She and Rickon clink glasses, sharing a quiet nod. 

“Everyone doesn’t need to be partnered up,” Arya says. “Some of us are happy alone, Sansa.”

“Is that way you were locking lips with the mechanic then?” Jon sounds like he’s been holding onto that piece of information for a while. Sansa squeals again, while Arya lets out an outraged yowl. Theon reaches a hand out to grab her sweater before she can launch herself at Jon. 

“Arya has Gendry, Rickon has Shireen, Sam has Gilly,” Sansa sighs. “All my difficult babies. Now Bran just needs to talk to Meera and Brienne needs to go out with Addam and everyone can be happy.”

Arya mimes puking. 

“I talk to Meera,” Bran mutters. 

“What about me?” Robb objects, just as Brienne says she doesn’t even know if she wants to go out with Addam.

“You need to be less stupid,” Sansa tells Robb. “Then we can talk.”

Theon starts cackling.

“And if you don’t want to date Addam,” Sansa says innocently, turning back to Brienne. “What about Jaime Lannister?”

Brienne chokes on her drink, and Asha sits bolt upright with interest. There’s no escaping this, not at all, especially when Arya grabs Brienne’s thigh with an iron grip.

“If I have to suffer, we all do,” Arya says grimly. Brienne sighs. 

“Cheer up!” Sansa chirps. “It’s Christmas. Everyone should find love at Christmas.” 

Brienne starts counting down the hours to December 26th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor long-suffering Brienne and Jaime. But they're still having a good Christmas despite it all. Though not as good as they'll have next year.
> 
> For those of you following my other stories, if anyone is, the nudist-verse Jaime POV has been beta'd! So that will start posting on December 26th, one chapter a day. (Not two this time, sorry folks, got a lot of other stuff in the hopper too.) Merry Christmas?


	26. December 26th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Cat reflect after the holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The advent prompt list I was using only went until the 25th so for the rest of the month I just grabbed random lines from other prompt lists. Because I do what I want.
> 
> Today's was "You're an angel."

“You’re an angel,” Cat says, as she takes the coffee mug from Ned’s hands. Even like this, tired, her hair a mess on the pillow, she’s still as beautiful as the day Ned married her. 

“You do too much,” Ned says. He sets his mug down and slides back into bed. “We should scale the holidays back.”

Cat sighs. “But it’s Christmas. And they love it so much.” 

“They’re adults.”

“So?” Cat frowns at her mug. “They don’t have their own families, not a single one of them. I don’t want to let the holidays just disappear.”

Ned knows there’s absolutely zero chance of his wife ceding control even if their children do have their own families. There never seems to be a point where Cat draws a line at too many people. 

“At least have them help,” Ned tries. “You’re exhausted.”

“Sansa and Robb help.” Cat leans her head on his shoulder. “And I don’t mind being a little tired. Someone has to take care of them.”

“They’re adults,” Ned says again.

“Are they?” Cat gives a familiar sigh. “We were married with Robb by the time we were Rickon’s age. We had four of them by the time we were Robb’s. None of them are even married.” 

“It’s different now, kids are waiting longer to have families.” It isn’t as if Ned doesn’t want grandchildren either, wouldn’t love to get a chance at simply spoiling babies and children instead of disciplining and raising them. “Besides, would you want Rickon responsible for an infant?”

They both contemplate their youngest son quietly. Ned is pleased to see Rickon has improved greatly from his teen years, and working with Brynden has been great for him. But Rickon still isn’t exactly what Ned would call responsible, spending most of his non-work time doing … well, Ned isn’t sure what Rickon does. Video games, maybe? Ned thinks he has one of those expensive, useless systems. Certainly Rickon doesn’t spend it thinking about career options beyond taking care of people’s lawns. 

On the other hand, the only reason Ned is on a first-name basis with the police these days is that his nephew is on the force, which is a vast improvement over the time he spent in Selmy’s office trying to find out a way to keep RIckon from going entirely off the rails into something he couldn’t come back from.

“Sansa says he’s seeing someone,” Cat says. “Or trying to. She wasn’t entirely clear, but she did say it seems mutual.”

“Oh good heavens, what is it this time?” Ned thinks to the past time Rickon’s tried to shock the family with dates. “A prostitute? Serial murderer?” 

“Sansa said she’s very nice, actually.” Cat takes another sip of coffee. “I think she’s a teacher.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about Rickon?” 

“She said so.” 

Well, teacher covers a lot of ground. Knowing Rickon, it will mean some woman who teaches pole dancing part time. Or one of those far leftist academics who studies something like the sexual habits of sadists. 

“I’m glad you’re talking to Sansa again,” Ned says, instead of dwelling on Rickon. He’ll handle that headache when he gets to it. Which hopefully will not be soon. 

“I still wonder if she’s sure,” Cat frets. “I mean, Margaery does seem like a perfectly lovely girl and Sansa seems very taken by her. But you know, women can have very close friendships and I don’t want her to mistake it for love. I mean, you know how close I was to Alysane when we were younger.” 

Ned has seen Cat and Alysane together, and while the idea of them behaving like Sansa and Margaery causes an uncomfortable tightening in his pajama pants, that’s really not the point right now. 

“I think she’s pretty certain.” Ned doesn’t think it’s prudent to mention the ways he’d seen Sansa and Margaery kissing at the holiday party. Or the way he’d walked out back when cleaning up and seen far more of their relationship than he ever needed to know.

It would be uncomfortable enough if Ned were in a position to, theoretically, have an opinion on one of his son’s girlfriend’s breasts. He has no idea what to do when it’s his daughter’s girlfriend, and so he’s resolutely not thinking about it at all. Same as he’s not thinking about what Sansa was doing at the time.

There are some things a parent shouldn’t know about their children.

“Arya’s young man seemed nice.” Ned tries to change the subject. “He’s very taken with her.” 

“I don’t expect Arya to be in anything lasting,” Cat says. “You know how she is.”

“Well, she might surprise us.” Ned’s half convinced Arya just does things to be contrary. 

“I wish Robb hadn’t broken up with Roslin.” Cat moves on. “She’s such a nice girl. I hope they work it out.”

Ned would rather they didn’t, given how little he wants to link his life to Walder Frey’s in any way, but he makes a non-committal noise. 

“Ygritte is quite nice,” Ned offers. “I’ve only ever seen her working a Mance’s but she seemed to be bringing Jon out of his shell.”

“She seems like trouble.” Cat sniffs. “I know you love your sister, Ned, but I don’t need Jon making the same mistakes his mother did.”

“Jon is in his 30s, not high school. Even if he has an unexpected child, it wouldn’t be the same.” Not that Ygritte strikes Ned as someone who is going to do anything she doesn’t want and who probably has things under control. Although, again, not things he wants to contemplate about his children. And Jon is effectively his son. 

“I just want my children to find nice partners and get married and have families,” Cat says. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.”

“We can’t run their lives,” Ned reminds her. “We raised them, now we have to let them make their own choices.” 

Cat doesn’t look convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Cat are great parents, but like a lot of parents, they have difficulty seeing some of their children accurately and keep seeing who they were when they were younger. This is particularly true of Arya and Rickon, who caused more trouble than the other three combined.


	27. December 27th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's been with a lot of women, but now that he considers it, he's never actually asked a woman on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Okay, nice and direct, I can work with that."

Business is slow as Tyrion opens up after the holiday. He can’t say he’s shocked, books don’t seem to be a hugely popular post-Christmas purchase. A few folks trickle in, mostly regulars. Sam Tarly comes to buy a number of comics he didn’t get for the holidays. Willas Tyrell comes to ask if he can exchange some duplicate gifts for other things even without a receipt, which Tyrion agrees to and also makes a note to offer customer wish lists next season. Lyanna Mormont drops in to exchange a steamy romance someone explicably thought she would like (she’s holding it between her fingers like it might bite her) for a new book on female warriors in history. Ellaria Sand comes in to return a psychiatry textbook (“I’m a working psychiatrist, I’ve already _been_ to school,” she says.) and takes the romance Lyanna rejected with great joy.

Tyrion uses the time to start thinking of displays for the new year. Resolutions feel so done, though Ellaria had given him some interesting ideas about habit formation and some books she recommends to clients. It’s certainly more interesting than diet books promising quick results and saccharine self-help tomes. 

Plus, if they are general books on habit formation and self-work, people won’t feel as embarrassed to buy them and go to Amazon instead. Tyrion’s seen plenty of people lurking in the diet section or the area where he has books on sexuality and then seen them scurry out again when he’s occupied.

Tyrion certainly isn’t going to judge his customers, at least not to their faces, and really, in most cases he’d rather find a way to help. If someone’s problems can be fixed, Tyrion certainly understands why they’d want to do so.

Tyrion’s also thinking about a section on lunar New Year, maybe with some history and folklore books from various Asian nations. Maybe some children’s books. Westeros is tragically devoid of multiculturalism (see exhibit: one of Sparrow’s congregants lobbying for a nativity outside city hall and claiming it’s not religious because it’s factual history) and Tyrion will try to wedge it in anywhere he can. 

There’s also bookkeeping and looking at the final numbers from Christmas sales. The town party really did provide a big boost, and Tyrion hopes it has a lasting effect. If it does, he might even be able to afford to hire an employee. 

Tyrion is going through an inventory list, trying to get a sense of what types of things sold best over the holiday, when the bell on the door jingles. 

“Thank you so much,” Tysha gushes, as she walks in. “My dad loves the book.”

Tyrion is always pleased when customers come back and give feedback on his ideas, but he finds this particular customer’s return especially pleasing. 

“Thank you,” Tyrion returns. “The basket and pillow were a big hit. My brother might nominate you as one of Santa’s elves.”

Tysha laughs, a light, musical sound. Tyrion tries not to stare at her with an embarrassingly sappy expression. He’s not sure what it is that he feels drawn to with Tysha, he’s certainly no stranger to beautiful women but there’s something with her … 

“And your nephew liked the kittens?” Tysha leans on the counter. It’s not seductive, no flashing of breasts or anything, just a friendly, open expression on her face. 

“They were a big hit,” Tyrion confirms. 

That’s about all Tyrion feels like saying that subject — he’s fairly certain a discussion about his nephew’s trauma-induced mutism is not seductive — and he’s not really sure what else to say. But Tysha keeps leaning on the counter like she’s expecting something. 

“Do you know what your father liked about the book?” Tyrion asks. “If you do, I can probably recommend similar titles.”

“He didn’t say.” Tysha is still looking at him. 

“Oh.”

Tyrion wonders how you’re supposed to approach women who aren’t drunk or stripping. Or professional escorts. Not like Jaime, with criticism and oblivious jealousy, certainly, but that still leaves a lot of options. After a few moments, where Tyrion feels remarkably flustered, Tysha finally sighs. 

“I didn’t come here to talk about the book,” she says. 

“Okay?” 

“I like you,” Tysha says bluntly. “You’re funny and you like books and you’re helpful and I really like your smile. You should ask me out.”

“Okay, nice and direct,” Tyrion says. “I can work with that.” 

Then he stops.

“I really, really, don’t mean this to sound offensive, but you’re not moonlighting at Chataya’s are you?”

Tysha looks shocked. “No!” 

“I mean, I didn’t really think you were,” Tyrion says. “But usually women asking me out tends to be more of a business transaction.” 

Tysha looks like that’s something she’s going to have feelings about so Tyrion rushes to continue. 

“I would like to go out with you. But you have noticed I’m a dwarf, right?”

“Does that keep you from dating?” Tysha looks confused. 

“Not so much me as women who aren’t looking for profit,” Tyrion says. “Which it seems you are not.”

“No, I’m not,” Tysha says.

She stares expectantly and Tyrion realizes, suddenly, that he’s never actually asked a woman out. Unless one counts asking for prices, which normal people probably don’t. 

Good god, he’s almost as bad at this as Jaime. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” Tyrion asks. 

Tysha grins. “Yes, I would.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's self-esteem issues are more deeply buried than others, but he still has them. Because who has two thumbs and loves writing about characters with self-issues? THIS GIRL.


	28. December 28th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen has been on dates before, but they're nothing like going out with Rickon Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You look amazing tonight."

Shireen changes clothes four times and shoes five times before she makes herself stop fussing and try to do something to distract herself before Rickon arrives.

It’s not that Shireen hasn’t been on dates before. Not many, but she has been on dates. 

It’s just that those dates can best be described as tepid. They’ve all been perfectly nice men, but none of them made Shireen feel a tiny fraction of what Rickon makes her feel. She’s tried her best, because Shireen figures that what she likes and who she is are fundamentally incompatible. Mild-mannered elementary school teachers who wear pastel dresses and own multiple teapots do not get pinned against walls by dangerous-looking, muscled, leather-wearing men.

Except apparently sometimes they do and Shireen isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do when it comes to going out with Rickon. Especially when she only has to be in his presence for a few minutes to start forgetting every boundary she thought she had for herself.

Willingly and enthusiastically forgetting them, but still.

Shireen had almost taken Missy up on her suggestion to go shopping and get something slinky and sexy to wear. Except Shireen knows she’d only feel terribly uncomfortable and besides, she doesn’t want Rickon to want to go out with some fake version of herself. Either he wants to go out with her, fluffy cardigans and pink apartment and all, or he doesn’t.

Still, Shireen tenses when she buzzes Rickon into the building and he looks her up and down. The dress has a lower neck than she’s used to wearing, and Shireen has skipped her usual colored tights in favor of bare legs (something she’ll probably regret when she steps outside) but she’s well aware that it’s still a conservative outfits by most normal people’s standards. 

Rickon doesn’t seem too visibly disappointed, though, just smiles at her in a way that makes Shireen’s stomach turn over as she gets her coat. He stays at a bit of a distance which Shireen can’t help feel is a good idea, given their last few interactions. Although it makes her worry about whether he really wants to go out on a date.

Shireen has never felt so compelled to touch someone in her entire life, even though she knows she wants to get to know him first. 

They go to Tarly’s and get a lot of confused looks. Shireen isn’t sure if that’s because they’re together or because Rickon is still wearing a tee shirt and battered leather jacket. It’s a plain black tee shirt, though, and Shireen is pretty sure that constitutes his effort at dressing up.

Considering the way it shows off Rickon’s biceps, Shireen doesn’t mind.

Talking to Rickon turns out to be easy this time, even though Shireen isn’t drunk. Or maybe because she’s not drunk. That’s not typical of Shireen’s dates either, because she’s come to the realization that she has virtually no hobbies in common with most of the men she knows. She likes sewing and knitting and reading and romantic movies and sure, she’s plenty open to other things but there’s no denying her hobbies are very girly.

Shireen doesn’t know when _reading_ became viewed as girly but apparently it is.

Rickon, not surprisingly, doesn’t really do any of those things but he at least asks questions and listens to Shireen’s answers. And even asks follow up questions. Maybe it’s because of his sister, he must have heard similar things before. 

And Rickon gets shockingly animated when he talks about the motorcycle he’s rebuilding or his plans for a backpacking trip on one of the areas of The Gift that’s extremely wild that Shireen finds it easy to care. Even though she knows nothing about motorcycles or backpacking and probably asks the dumbest questions in existence. 

It doesn’t even matter that the waitress is giving them confused and pitying looks — Shireen isn’t sure if the pity is for her face or for Rickon’s being stuck with her — but Shireen still feels a familiar flush of embarrassment when Tyene Sand and her date slink in and are seated nearby.

Never mind that it’s freezing outside, Tyene is wearing a skimpy slip dress that does nothing to disguise the fact that she’s not wearing a bra (and judging by lack of lines, she’s not wearing panties either) and towering heels. Every man and some of the women turn to look when Tyene walks in and Shireen wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to make people look at you because they want you, not because they’re wondering what’s wrong with you.

Rickon seems to notice her change in mood because he frowns across the table. 

“Why don’t I remember you from school?” Rickon asks. “I definitely should remember you.”

“You’re younger than I am,” Shireen points out, before stopping to wonder if that will bother him. 

“Not that much younger,” Rickon says. 

Shireen shrugs. “I was homeschooled for a while. My mom was worried about Satan’s influence. Then I was in the hospital for a few times. I didn’t really get to have many friends.”

Because that doesn’t sound pathetic at all. 

“For your face,” Rickon says. He doesn’t have any inflection to his tone, just stating a fact. Shireen supposes it makes sense. They can’t ignore her scars forever.

“Yeah,” she says. “First the incident and then some reconstructive surgeries. They did the best they could.”

“That must have been hard,” Rickon says. Shireen could kiss him again, right there, because he doesn’t assume she meant to say accident or point out how poorly the reconstructive surgery went.

Actually, it didn’t go poorly. Shireen could look like Sandor Clegane and she doesn’t. That doesn’t mean she looks normal though. She ducks her head down and to the side on reflex as she answers, swing her hair forward to hide that side of her face.

Tyene laughs loudly a few tables over, a husky, sultry sort of laugh. Shireen sighs. The waitress asks if they want dessert. Rickon looks at Shireen and says no.

At least they had some fun, Shireen figures, as Rickon drives back to her place. She’ll always have a good story or two to tell. 

Rickon walks her to the door and steps back, still an arms length or so away. 

“So,” he says. “Where did I fuck up?”

Shireen blinks. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s why you looked so disappointed at dinner.” Rickon sounds both pissed off and resigned, somehow. “Sorry, I’m not some hidden prince.”

“I — what?” Shireen feels like she’s not following this conversation very well. “I’m not disappointed, you’re disappointed. Sorry I’m not Tyene Sand.” 

“What the fuck does Tyene Sand have to do with anything?” Now Rickon sounds confused. “I’m not disappointed.” 

“Then why were you in a hurry to leave?” Shireen challenges.

“Because you’re disappointed!” 

“But I’m not!” Shireen takes a deep breath. “I know I’m not sexy like Tyene and I’m sure I’m nothing like any of the girls you’ve dated before —”

“I haven’t dated any girls before,” Rickon says. “And you look amazing tonight.”

“Fine, I don’t look like any of the girls you’ve fucked before.” Shireen knows she sounds pissed off now, and she also knows she has no real justification to be. “And you don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Rickon says. He’s still standing almost across the hallway. 

“You’re standing so far away I might as well be contagious,” Shireen snaps. “You knew I had a scar, you knew what I look like, why even bother when I’m clearly not cool enough for —”

“I”m standing so far away because I don’t trust myself if I touch you!” Rickon almost shouts. Shireen jumps a little and looks down the hall, but nobody is opening their door to see what’s going on. 

“I’m standing so far away,” Rickon says, this time at a more normal volume. “Because you’re the kind of girl who’s supposed be with a guy who knows how to take you out and be polite and shit and not just grope you in bars. And you’re standing over there in that dress with your _legs_ and your fucking collarbones and I’m _trying_ to be respectful.”

“Since when are you respectful?” Shireen gives Rickon a look that she hopes reminds him of exactly how not respectful he’s been. 

“Since you said you wanted me to be!” 

Suddenly, Shireen feels completely stupid. “Well now I’m the one who fucked up.”

Rickon’s eyes flutter shut for a second. “Okay, first of all I’m really going to need you to stop saying fuck. Since when do you curse anyway?”

“Apparently you inspire me,” Shireen says dryly. 

Rickon’s eyes are darker when he opens them. “Careful, or you’re going to start making me think of what other things I could inspire in you.”

Which of course only makes Shireen think of all the out of character things Rickon has _already_ inspired her to do and how many more she probably hasn’t even considered yet and her breath hitches. 

Rickon takes a step closer. 

“I really need you to stop looking at me like that.” HIs voice is almost pleading and Shireen’s stomach flips again at the idea that she’s somehow making him sound that way. 

“I’m not looking at you like anyway,” Shireen says. Rickon takes another step closer. 

“You are,” he says. “It’s very, very distracting when we’re trying to have an argument.”

“Were we arguing?”

“It was a stupid argument,” Rickon says, finally closing the distance between them.

Suddenly, Shireen is reminded of exactly how large Rickon is, especially next to her, how tall and broad and smelling of leather and she can’t stop the whimper that escapes her throat even though it’s horribly embarrassing. 

“Shireen,” Rickon says. The only thing better than the way his voice breaks a little on her name is the fact that as soon as he’s doing saying it his lips are on hers. Shireen wonders what on earth they were arguing about, because this is just as amazing as the last time Rickon kissed her and she feels like she’s burning up from the inside out.. 

Shireen tries to say something when they have to stop kissing to breathe, but what leaves her lips is in no way recognizable as words, because Rickon is hoisting her up again, pinning her between the door and his body while Shireen tries to wrap a leg around him as best she can in her dress. It has the unfortunate, or maybe fortunate, side effect of making her skirt ride up and Rickon slides his hand along her thigh. 

“I’ve wanted to touch you all night,” Rickon says, close enough that she feels his breath on her ear and it sends a full body shudder through her. “But I’m trying not to push you.” 

Shireen still can’t manage to form any sort of coherent response, so she just slides her hand into Rickon’s hair and pulls him back to where she can kiss him again. Her other hand keeps wandering from his shoulder to stroke down his bicep and back again while Rickon keeps kissing her like he’s never going to stop.

Which is fine, because Shireen never wants him to stop, especially when he shifts them and all of a sudden his thigh is between her legs, helping hold her up and providing delicious friction that makes Shireen moan out loud. Rickon’s answering groan only encourages the dazed, heated feeling rushing through her as she grinds her hips down. 

There’s a distant part of Shireen’s mind that thinks she’s going to be embarrassed about this, and that she’s moving to fast. But it’s losing a lot of ground to the part of Shireen that is burning up with pleasure and wanting more. 

Shireen doesn’t know how long they stay like that, kissing and rubbing and making soft gasps and moans into each other’s mouths against her door, and she doesn’t know how far she’d let it go if she wasn’t startled by a door opening and a stifled yelp from down the hall. 

Rickon tightens his grip on her briefly, but then sees the way she’s staring past him and sets Shireen down gently.

Brienne is standing just outside her door, face practically glowing red, as she stares at them and then jerks her gaze away. Shireen doesn’t even want to consider what she looks like right now, her skirt shoved up and her hair probably wrecked. 

“Sorry,” Brienne mumbles, and then darts back inside her apartment.

Rickon takes a step back. “That was not taking it slow, was it?”

“Not really.” Shireen leans back against the door. 

“I’d like to do this again,” Rickon says. “I mean. The date, not the … well, the other stuff too but … if you want to, I mean.” 

“I would,” Shireen manages to get out. Rickon takes another step back when she smiles at him.

‘I really need to leave,” Rickon says. “But I’ll call you.” 

Shireen can’t wait until he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not go at all the way I thought it would when I started writing. It's longer and later than usual, because it apparently took these two some time to get where I wanted and because I had to wait until my parents went to bed to write the final scene. Their visit is almost over but it's very hard to write smutty things when one's mother keeps interrupting.


	29. December 29th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne wonders why she wanted to make friends, and if everyone's friends are so annoyingly persistent.

“If you don’t call him, I’m going to do it for you.” 

Brienne snatches her phone back from Asha. “Don’t you dare.”

“You have been really tense today,” Sansa says. “Getting out and having fun might do you some good.”

Brienne glares at both of them from where she’s making another pass at budget numbers while Asha reviews adoption applications and Sansa (theoretically) mans the front desk. 

“So I’ll stop by Evenfall’s,” Brienne says, because she’s learning that these two are even harder to placate when they combine their efforts.

Why did Brienne ever think making friends was such a good idea?

“Talking to your father is not going out and having fun,” Sansa says. 

“Seriously, though, what’s got your panties back in a twist?” Asha shoves a handful of potato chips in her mouth. “I thought you were going to call Addam.”

“I said I’d think about calling Addam,” Brienne says. “I thought about it. And I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Sansa’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Because I don’t.” 

“But why?” Sansa starts ticking things off on her fingers. “He’s cute. He’s a gender you’re attracted to. He’s nice. He’s gainfully employed. He seems like he’s probably not boring. And he likes you. So what isn’t a good idea?”

“It’s not about him, it’s about me.” Brienne realizes as soon as it’s halfway out that she’s picked the wrong thing thing to say. 

“Don’t you dare say you’re unattractive,” Asha warns. “Aside from it not being true, the man kissed you and gave you his number, he obviously agrees with me and not you.”

“It isn’t that,” Brienne says. “It’s just. I’m not cut out for dating.”

Both women give her thoroughly unimpressed looks.

“How would you know if you don’t date?” Asha says. “Have you ever been on date?” 

Brienne looks sideways at Sansa, and then sighs. “No,” she admits.Not a real one anyway.

“So you could be great at dating,” Sansa says. “The best date-er ever.” 

“Date-er?” Asha asks. Sansa shrugs.

“I won’t be,” Brienne says. “I can’t — I’m not going to live up to his expectations.” 

“You don’t even know what his expectations are,” Asha argues. “I can practically hear your brain over-working.”

“I know he’s… an adult,” Brienne finally settles on. 

“Yes, if he were a child, we’d be staging an intervention, “ Sansa says. She’s a lot more sarcastic since she’s started dating Margaery. Or maybe it’s being around Asha so much.

“Adult is a wide and varied category,” Asha says. “Expectations are not standard. Some women want to get roses on the first date. Val wanted a halibut.”

“A _halibut_?” Sansa asks, then waves it away. “We’ll discuss that later. The point is, the only way to know is to talk to him. On the phone. At dinner. Whatever.” 

“Some expectations seem to be,” Brienne says, carefully. “Standard. And I am not … I can’t …”

Sansa raises her eyebrows.

“Sex,” Brienne finally blurts out. “I’m not going to —I know ugly girls are supposed to be desperate and grateful but I’m not sleeping with someone on the first date.”

“You aren’t ugly,” Asha and Sansa say, in unison this time. Brienne is starting to think they’re rehearsing. 

“And if you don’t want to have sex with him, then don’t. If he’s a dick about it, kick him in the nuts,” Asha says.

“Lots of people don’t have sex on the first date,” Sansa says. 

“Yeah,” Asha agrees. “Some people have it before.”

Sansa throws an eraser at her. “Margaery and I already knew each other, and anyway, that’s not the point. Lots of people wait.” 

“Do they?” Brienne looks at them. “Anymore?”

“Yes,” Asha says. “Maybe not either of us, but yes. Where is this coming from?”

Brienne buries her head in her arms, abandoning any pretense of working on the budget. It wasn’t going much better than the conversation anyway. 

“We’re not going to drop it,” Sansa says. “Margaery has her obligatory dinner with her grandmother tonight, I have lots of time.” 

“Val’s getting drinks with the Mormonts to bitch about the new construction,” Asha adds. “I’m free all night.”

Brienne groans. 

Asha starts humming the theme song from Jeopardy.

“I saw Shireen and Rickon,” Brienne finally says. “In the hallway after their date.”

“Having sex?” Asha asks. 

“Not quite,” Brienne says. “I don’t think.”

“Well, good for them,” Asha says. “Still doesn’t mean you have to.”

“But Shireen is —” Brienne waves her hands. “She’s so quiet and polite and I don’t think she dates much either and if even she’s going to — I mean —”

“Okay, first of all, Shireen and Rickon have some weird epic chemistry that is not representative of anything,” Sansa says. “Also, Rickon is a 22-year-old man with the impulse control of a gnat. Addam is an actual grown up who presumably knows how to exercise self-restraint.” 

“Twenty-two year old men are still walking boners,” Asha agrees. 

“And even then, they still know how to accept no. Even Rickon,” Sansa says. “He would never force Shireen to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

“I didn’t mean to imply he would,” Brienne says hastily. “But if even someone like Shireen is going to be so … willing to do things so fast maybe I’m just too … maybe I’m just past the age where it’s okay to take it slow.” 

“Bullshit,” Sansa says. “Arya would never sleep with someone on the first date, and she’s still dating Gendry. If Margaery had wanted to wait, I’d have waited as long as she wanted.” 

“And you don’t know they slept together,” Asha points out. “They could have stopped at making out.”

“Even that …” Brienne stares at the table instead of her friends. “I don’t know what I’m doing and nobody is going to put up with me having to learn not at my age.” 

“It’s not rocket science,” Asha says. “It’s not like you can fuck it up, unless you punch them or something.” 

Brienne groans a little. “I didn’t even know what to do when he kissed me!”

“And yet he still gave you his number,” Sansa says. “And the only way to learn anything is practice.” 

“And while I’m sure either of us would be perfectly happy to volunteer,” Asha says. “We know you don’t bat for our team. So why not take a chance with the nice, so far unobjectionable man who seems like he would be very interested in the job?”

“And when he laughs at me?” Brienne asks.

“We knife him and I drop the body off my cousin’s fishing boat,” Asha says. 

“Or bury him in The Gift,” Sansa adds. “Uncle Benjen would help.”

Brienne wonders if all friendships involve so man threats of violence or if she just has a particularly blood-thirsty social circle.

“Call him,” Asha says again. “Or I’m going to do it for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO first of all, last night I posted so late I forgot to link to [Shireen's dress](https://www.unique-vintage.com/products/retro-style-emerald-green-ruched-wrap-front-dress) which is pretty sexy (Rickon agrees) but not skimpy. 
> 
> Also, poor Brienne, she's processing witnessing a pretty heated moment. And she's feeling even more secure because Shireen's still in her early-to-mid-20s, when inexperience is probably less shocking than your mid-to-late-30s. Not that I'd know what that feels like, nope, not me AT ALL. 
> 
> Also, always make sure you have a best friend who would help you bury the body. It's important.


	30. December 30th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is shocked to see a familiar-looking face outside the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You look like you've seen a ghost.

Jon picks at his pancakes while Ygritte rambles on about town gossip. Something about elementary school teachers being secretly freaky, which Jon thinks is probably overblown. Ygritte has a tendency to think everyone is secretly freaky.

Jon is not letting that line of logic talk him into handcuffs. 

At least they’re trying to spend time together outside of a bedroom. Jon very much enjoys the time they spend inside a bedroom but he feels guilty if that’s all they do. Ygritte thinks it’s hilarious. 

So now they’re at Fat Walda’s, eating breakfast and trying to have a conversation. Jon is pouring more maple syrup on his plate when the blonde outside catches his eye and his fork clatters to the floor.

Ygritte stops talking.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says.

Jon only nods.

Ygritte twists around to see where Jon is looking and frowns. 

“Are you staring at the blonde with the perky tits? What, you think she’s hotter than me?”

“No!” Jon says, still craning his neck to look out the window. 

“What the fuck?” Ygritte lobs a piece of her breakfast potatoes at him. “You piece of fucking shit.”

“What?” Jon blocks the next piece of potato. “I’m not staring at other women!”

“Oh no?” Ygritte makes a show of twisting around again, looking through the window to the sidewalk, which is empty save for the platinum blonde in a violet coat. “So you’ve developed a fascination with lamp posts?”

Jon doesn’t get a chance to respond.

“Look, you’re the one who gets all high and mighty about dating and not feeling like a dirty whore,” Ygritte rants. People in nearby booths are starting to turn towards their table. “But if you’re done with me, Jon Snow, you tell me, you don’t —”

“I’m not done with you!” Jon pulls Ygirtte’s plate closer to him, because she looks like she’s about to start throwing things again. 

“Oh, then what are you doing thing?” 

“I think that’s my aunt!” Jon hisses. He still keeps a hold on the plate.

Ygritte opens and closes her mouth a few times, then twists back around to look at the window.

“Just so we’re clear, you mean blondie perky tits, not the lamp post?”

“Can we please not talk about my aunt’s tits?” Jon cautiously releases his hold on the plate. Ygritte drags it back, but she only takes a forkful of eggs. 

“And what do you mean, you think? Don’t you know your relatives?” Ygritte frowns at her eggs and shakes more salt onto them.

“Not really,” Jon says. “The Starks, sure, but the rest …”

Ygritte looks over her shoulder again. “She looks like she’s your age.”

“Just about, if it’s who I think,” Jon says. “A few years older.”

“What are you, a Frey or something?”

Jon recoils in horror. “No!” 

Ygritte squints at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Jon shudders at the mere thought of being related to Walder Frey. He hopes Robb never gets back with Roslin, even cousins-in-law would be too close. “I’m a Targaryen.”

“But you’re called Snow. Which is weird, by the way, who uses bastard names any more?”

“People who don’t like their fathers,” Jon says. “Or mothers.” 

“Ooh, drama.” Ygritte leans forward, food forgotten. “So you hate your parents and your aunt is a young hottie. You’ve got shocking depths, Jon Snow.”

Jon groans.

“My father was 20, my mother was 15,” he explains. “Rhaegar was married, he dumped his wife and his two kids to run off with my mom and they left me with Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat and went to Hollywood.”

“Ooh, they’re famous?” 

Jon shifts in his seat. “Kinda.”

Ygritte grins. “You do keep secrets. But how’s your aunt so young then?”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t know, there was some drama with my grandfather on that side, they left Westeros. But I guess they had a big gap between kids, so Daenerys would only be a couple years older than I am.”

“And she’s hot.”

“I really would prefer not to consider that.” Jon looks again. The woman is still waiting. “The Starks never got over my dad getting my mom knocked up in high school, so I don’t know any of his side. And it’s not like I have any shortage of relatives.”

“How the fuck do you avoid each other in a town this size?” Ygritte seems suspicious. 

“They live in Pentos. Or they did. I don’t know,” Jon says. “But she looks a lot like my father.” 

Ygritte demolishes a piece of toast. “So what are you gonna do?”

Jon stares at his pancakes. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon, not really prepared for his aunt to be hot.


	31. December 31st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne does end up at the New Year's Eve gala, despite her best efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Dance with me."

It turns out that Brienne does receive an invitation to the Lannister Bank New Year’s Eve Gala, as does every business owner (except Asha and her father) in Westeros. Which means Brienne is definitely going, because her father is delighted by his own invitation. 

Brienne wears the same blue jumpsuit from the Christmas party, out of a stubborn refusal to cave in to Sansa and her father’s pleading. And because she really can’t stomach the idea of seeing how bad she’d look in a gown.

The Lannister bank lobby has been transformed into a ballroom for the occasion, glittering with lights and gold decorations. Brienne clutches her father’s arm as they walk in. She’s only interacted with a few Lannisters, but it’s enough for her to be worried. 

Jaime may be turning out to be somewhat less awful than Brienne had initially imagined, and Tyrion actually seems rather kind, but the brief moment meeting Jaime’s father at church had been more than enough for Brienne. And he is just one of many Lannisters, if Sansa’s rambling lecture to prepare Brienne for the event is accurate. 

The gala, if Brienne understands it, is mostly for business owners and the wealthy in Westeros. It’s largely meant to be the adults, the oldest generations, but some of the adult children in the bigger families attend. Sansa and her brother Robb will be here, Brienne knows, largely because they’re expected to take over their parent’s department store someday. 

The second they walk in the door, Brienne knows she’s underdressed. There are elaborate evening gowns everywhere, and so many diamonds Brienne thinks she might go blind from the general sparkle. 

Selwyn, of course, is immediately greeting people and shaking hands. There is a lot of gold in the room, Brienne realizes, and red. Probably Lannisters, since Sansa mentioned that many people wear their traditional house colors, the ones their families had before immigrating. Which is ridiculous, in Brienne’s opinion, since houses don’t mean anything now. If they ever did. There’s a school of thought that the traditions of sigils and colors has been over-emphasized to appeal to American tourists. It hasn’t stopped her father from wearing a rose vest and bow tie with his tuxedo.

Brienne does her best to slink along the wall, but of course she can’t escape the Starks. Sansa and Catelyn both look effortlessly elegant in grey gowns, and neither of them is willing to let Brienne lurk in corners. 

“Sansa has been telling me about the shelter’s financial situation,” Catelyn says, pulling Brienne forward. She stops to get them both glasses of champagne from a waiter. “There are a lot of people here who need to make some charitable donations to lower their taxes, you should let people know all the good you’re doing.”

“We can do fundraisers too,” Sansa says. “I have some ideas. But this is certainly easier.”

The gleam in Sansa’s eyes when she says fundraiser is alarming. 

Cat introduces Brienne to a number of people she barely registers, aside from the impression that everyone here is far better at this than Brienne is . Though it is a relief to meet the Mormonts, or at least a few of them, because Maege and Dacey have both shown up to the gala in tuxedos, looking completely unashamed. 

(“Not lesbians,” Sansa had said of the Mormonts when going over some of the families. “Though you’d never guess that.”)

Dacey eyes Brienne up and down in a way that Brienne knows well. But rather than a snide remark, Dacey only asks if Brienne has ever considered becoming a firefighter.

Brienne has not, but Dacey makes her promise to at least think about it and punches her number into Brienne’s phone. 

Brienne almost jumps out of her skin when she hears Catelyn say Marbrand, but it isn’t Addam, only a few older men that Brienne thinks must be related to him. They are both kind enough as Cat explains what Brienne (and Asha, though she is carefully not mentioned) is doing at the shelter. The Crakehalls are less interested, giving Brienne the kind of dismissive look she’s used to and sniffing about nuisance animals.

It’s a relief to spot Margaery, resplendent in a sparkling gold dress that shows a lot of leg. Cat’s smile becomes a little forced, however, as they make their way over to where Margaery is standing with an older woman in a classy blue gown with a lace top that shows off a large diamond pendant. 

“My dear, you are singular,” Olenna says, when introduced to Brienne. “Next year we must get you into a gown, something with a slit to show off those lovely legs.” 

“Oh, I don’t think —” Brienne starts.

“Nonsense.” Olenna waves her off. “You have legs for days, darling, you must show them off. Heavens knows I couldn’t carry off a gown like that, even when I was young enough for it to be appropriate.”

She gestures across the room at a young woman in a red velvet dress with a slit up to mid-thigh. 

“Brienne is self-conscious, grandmother.” Margaery pats her grandmother’s arm. “We’ll have to ease her into it.” 

“Is this because of men?” Olenna peers up at Brienne. “Most men are weak. They don’t like powerful women, whether they’re powerful because of their bodies or their money. And those men aren’t worth knowing. Just knock them into the dust and step over them on your way to something better.”

Cat is stifling a laugh.

“Ned’s one of the good ones,” Olenna says. “Good thing too, since I suspect we may be family someday,, Catelyn.”

Margaery turns red at that, a sight Brienne thought she’d never see, and tugs Brienne off with a hasty excuse about introducing her to someone. Margaery disappears with Sansa, though, and Brienne slinks back to the edge of the room, stopping only to grab a mini shrimp cocktail from a waiter. 

“Have you tried the duck breast?” a young woman with dark hair speaks up from next to Brienne. She’s more casually dressed than most of the people Brienne has seen so far. “It’s amazing.” 

Brienne hasn’t, and the woman, who introduces herself as Meera Reed, flags down one of the circulating waiters. Meera looks about as unenthused about the event as Brienne feels, and they work their way through the cold duck breast on a baguette, mini beef wellingtons, wild mushroom tarts, seared tuna on crostini, and a variety of stuffed dates as they talk about the shelter and opportunities for search and rescue dog training. 

“There’s so much of the Gift that’s backcountry,” Meera says, licking barbeque sauce off her fingers as she finishes a tiny rib. “It’s definitely something only experienced hikers should do, but no matter what you do idiots go out there and get themselves lost.”

Brienne chews on what must be her fifth lamb lollipop as she mulls the idea. 

“We tell them not to go when they’re renting gear,” Meera says. “The rangers tell them not to go. But then they go anyway.”

“Is anyone already using search dogs?” Brienne asks. 

Meera shakes her head. “Old Aemon used to, but his dog died, and he’s too old to get out anyway. Problem is, not all dogs are suited for it. What would be best is if we had a chance to give some dogs a trial and see which ones are good at scenting a trail.”

By the time Meera’s father waves her over, Brienne has another number in her phone and a plan. She probably should feel guilty that she’s not doing much to raise money, but adopting animals out is just as important. 

Ducking the Stark women, Brienne finds her father chatting with a plump older woman wearing a red dress displays a prodigious amount of cleavage. 

“Starfish!” Selwyn beams down at her. “This is Genna Lannister. Did you know the bank also sponsors a polar bear plunge every year?”

“Dad, no,” Brienne says. She shakes Genna’s hand, and turns back to her father. “It’s only supposed to get into the 20s.”

“It’ll be bracing! Like our ocean swims.” From her father’s face, Brienne can tell he’s already signed them up. It won’t matter if she points out that January in Tarth was usually in the fifties, at least. 

“You don’t have to swim,” Genna says. “You can always cheer people on.”

“Oh, she’ll swim,” Selwyn promises. Brienne glares at him. 

“You know dear, I’ve heard so much about you from my nephew.” Genna changes the subject as she looks between them. “The kittens have made a huge difference for Tommen, Jaime is just so grateful for all your help.”

“You know the Lannisters?” Selwyn is now looking at Brienne with undisguised curiosity. 

“Not really,” Brienne is saying, just as Jaime comes up, bending over to hug his aunt before turning to Brienne. 

“Wench!” 

“What did you just call me?” Brienne frowns at Jaime. 

“You’re the cat wench,” Jaime says, as if that is some kind of explanation. “And didn’t we talk about smiling?”

“You talked about smiling,” Brienne tells him. “I’m not obligated to do anything.”

“You should though.” Jaime fusses with his bow tie. His tuxedo fits like he was born to wear one. “It’s a party, they’re fun. Haven’t you been to parties before?”

“I have been to parties.” Brienne wills her voice to remain calm. 

“Oh, that’s right, you were there at Christmas.” Jaime makes a show of looking around. “No date? I haven’t seen Addam.”

“I’m not dating Addam,” Brienne says.

“Yet,” her father adds. 

“Marbrand?” Genna says. “He’s a lovely boy.”

“He’s all right,” Jaime says, dismissively. “Terrible choice wench, I’m telling you.”

“Not your decision,” Brienne reminds him. 

“I’m just looking out for you,” Jaime says. “I owe you for the cats.” 

“It’s my job.” 

“Yes, well.” Jaime suddenly looks alarmed. “Oh shit, it’s the Sand sisters.”

He ducks behind Genna, as if the woman who barely comes up to Brienne’s chest is going to have any hope of hiding him from view.

Brienne looks behind her to see a trio of dark-haired women in orange attire that can only be described as provocative. She vaguely recognizes one of them as the owner of the salon and another as the owner of the sex shop on the same block as the vet’s office, which makes her blush just thinking about it.

“Last year Obara grabbed my ass,” Jaime is saying to Genna. “I don’t need that again.”

Brienne doesn’t know which one is Obara, but she has a hard time imagining any man would be too upset about being groped. Her father is certainly eyeing the women in a way that makes Brienne want to pull out his driver’s license and remind him again that he’s not a young man any more. 

Before she gets the chance to say anything, Genna is tugging on Selwyn’s arm, insisting he escort her to the bar for a cocktail. Brienne is left with Jaime, who stares at the pair as they leave.

“Pray for your dad if Genna’s got her sights on him,” Jaime says. 

Brienne snorts. “At least she’s age appropriate. The last one was younger than I am.”

Jaime laughs a little but doesn’t stop looking over Brienne’s shoulder. “Well, perhaps she’s met her match, finally.”

“Or they’ll join forces and all of Westeros should cower.” Brienne can already tell Genna is a force to be reckoned with. Not usually her father’s type, but his type has never lasted more than four months, so maybe change is good.

“Oh god, Obara’s coming.” Jaime looks at Brienne. “Dance with me.”

Brienne rolls her eyes. “Jaime, you’re a grown man, you can deal with a woman.” 

“You only say that because you don’t know Obara,” Jaime says. 

“Well then surely you can find someone else to dance with,” Brienne gestures at the other women standing not far from them. Meera is busy stalking a waiter who’s carrying a tray of cream puffs, but most of the other women seem to be posing decoratively in hopes of joining the waltzing that’s started. 

“Yes, but I want to dance with you,” Jaime says. “Preferably before Obara reaches us and I’m irreprably traumatized.”

Jaime reaches out and takes Brienne’s hand when she doesn’t move, tugging them towards the dance floor. 

“If you don’t dance with me now,” Jaime continues. “I’ll be forced to dance with the Sands and by the time I find you again, I’ll be so broken down I won’t manage to dance very well and you’ll be left with a terribly poor impression of me.”

“Who says I don’t already have a terribly poor impression of you?” Brienne finds she doesn’t know how to dismiss Jaime politely, since he’s not budging and somehow finds herself resting her hand on Jaime’s shoulder as he takes the other one, feeling utterly ridiculous. “How do you know I can even dance?”

“Everyone can dance,” Jaime says. “And you like me, you gave me cats.”

“I adopted cats to you, which is my job,” Brienne corrects. Unfortunately, she does know how to waltz, thanks to her father’s attempts to make her more ladylike in her youth. Jaime is a decent enough lead, at least, not pushing her around but not holding her so softly she can’t tell what he’s trying to get her to do.

“Always so dour,” Jaime says. “We’re dancing, this is fun.”

“Again, you could dance with someone else,” Brienne says. 

“But they might besmirch my virtue,” Jaime says. Brienne can’t help laughing a little and he grins in response.

“I wasn’t aware you had virtue,” Brienne says. “Besides, aren’t those the type of women men are looking for?”

They pass Margaery and Sansa on the floor, and Sansa gives Brienne a thumbs up behind Jaime’s back. 

“Not always,” Jaime says, and the look on his face keeps Brienne from asking any more. 

They are quiet for a few minutes, enough for Brienne to almost relax, when Jaime’s face suddenly turns serious.

“Tommen has really taken to the kittens,” Jaime says. “He’s speaking … usually to or on behalf of the cats, but still. It’s made a big difference for him. I really do owe you thanks.”

“It was my job,” Brienne says. Again. But it’s nice to hear. “What has he named them?” 

“Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers,” Jaime says. “Myrcy thinks it’s almost as dumb as Snark and Grumpkin.” 

“And Brenna?” Brienne asks. “What you calling her?”

“Brenna, of course,” Jaime says. 

“You can change it, you know, they aren’t dogs,” Brienne says. “They will learn their name, but they adapt very quickly.”

“But you named her Brenna,” Jaime says. Another strange comment he seems to think is explanatory. “She’s doing very well, although she mostly seems to sleep and slap the kittens around if they get too energetic.”

“Sounds about right.”

The song slows down and comes to an end, and Jaime thankfully doesn’t try to do anything crazy like dip Brienne, though he does spin her around with flourish. Brienne steps back as quickly as she can, not expecting Jaime to follow her but also not entirely surprised when he does. 

At least Jaime introduces her to a few of what he calls the ‘more tolerable’ Lannisters, talking about the cats and Tommen’s improvement and the shelter’s need for funding. He must feel very grateful to give Brienne so much attention, but she can’t help getting antsy as they night goes on. 

Her plan has been to leave before midnight, but her father has vanished and Brienne can’t seem to shake her Jaime-shaped shadow.

“I like your necklace,” Jaime says suddenly. He’s been alternating between discussing the cats and needling her about Addam, a situation he seems to find very interesting. Probably laughing at the idea of her and Addam even interacting.

“It was my mother’s.” Brienne knows it doesn’t look nice, not on her, where the pearl and sapphire setting is comically small. But she hadn’t had the heart to turn her father down when he presented her with the pendant and earrings to wear. 

“Did she look like you?”

“No,” Brienne says. “She was very pretty.”

Brienne decides she can leave on her own, there’s no cabs but it isn’t a far walk to her apartment, not really. Or maybe she can just wait near her father’s car. 

“Hey,” Jaime says, as he realizes she’s collecting her coat. “You’re going to miss the countdown.” 

“Yes.” Brienne eyes her flats. They aren’t great for walking, but they’ll do.

“I know Addam isn’t here, but surely you can find someone else to kiss at midnight. It’s bad luck not to, you know,” Jaime says.

“Why is everyone so hung up on Addam?” Brienne snaps. Then she thinks about it. “Or no, how many of you are in on the bet this time? Do you have to get a date or is someone supposed to actually lower themself to fucking me to get the prize?”

Jaime’s mouth opens and closes for a minute. Brienne sighs. Great. And now she’s made a fool out of herself multiple times, with multiple people believing their kindness. Again. 

Brienne is almost to the car when Jaime catches up with her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaime says. “But there’s not anything going on like a bet. I still think Addam’s a bad idea, but he’s my friend and he’s not the kind of guy who would do something like that and I don’t want to make you think he is.”

Brienne is still digging through her purse, trying to see if she has a spare set of keys for her dad’s car. “Fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says. Brienne still can’t look at him. “I wasn’t trying to — he really wouldn’t.” 

“And now you’ve told me that,” Brienne folds her arms and glares at Jaime. “Are you done mocking me now? Or do you want to follow me home too?”

“I wasn’t …” Jaime trails off and shrugs. “Happy New Year, then.”

“Happy new year,” Brienne mutters, as she can hear the countdown starting inside while Jaime walks back to the bank. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want pictures of everyone's dress? Yes you do. First, Brienne's [jewelery](https://www.macys.com/shop/product/cultured-freshwater-pearl-6mm-sapphire-1-2-ct.-t.w.-jewelry-set-in-sterling-silver?ID=5169902&CategoryID=72343) and [jumpsuit](https://www.asos.com/us/outrageous-fortune-tall/outrageous-fortune-tall-plunge-front-jumpsuit-in-navy/prd/11614908) which she wears with a camisole underneath. 
> 
> [Catelyn](https://www.jjshouse.com/A-Line-Princess-V-Neck-Sweep-Train-Chiffon-Evening-Dress-With-Beading-Sequins-Cascading-Ruffles-017153422-g153422), [Sansa](https://www.jjshouse.com/A-Line-Princess-Scoop-Neck-Floor-Length-Tulle-Evening-Dress-With-Ruffle-Beading-Appliques-Lace-Sequins-017065555-g65555), [Olenna](https://www.jjshouse.com/Ball-Gown-V-Neck-Floor-Length-Satin-Evening-Dress-017147968-g147968), [Margaery](https://www.macys.com/shop/product/xscape-one-shoulder-sequin-gown?ID=10043713&CategoryID=71454&swatchColor=Gold#fn=COLOR%3DGold), [Meera](https://www.macys.com/shop/product/lauren-ralph-lauren-satin-collar-cocktail-dress-created-for-macys?ID=10134521&CategoryID=71454#fn=COLOR%3DGreen), [Genna](https://www.macys.com/shop/product/betsy-adam-plus-size-ruched-gown?ID=10144914&CategoryID=37038), [Obara](https://www.couturecandy.com/products/tarik-ediz-sculpted-seamed-gown-92488), [Tyene](https://www.couturecandy.com/products/jovani-60264-sleeveless-halter-jersey-jumpsuit), and [Nymeria](https://www.couturecandy.com/products/sherri-hill-52762-fitted-two-piece-plunging-v-neck-dress). Yes, I felt the need to find dresses they'd all wear. 
> 
> For reference: Obara is NOT that bad, Jaime is being dramatic and she can be persistent. 
> 
> Jaime did not kiss anyone at midnight, and is confused about why he feels sad about that. Genna kisses Selwyn, Margaery and Sansa almost cause a small scandal, Ned and Cat sigh and remember when they were that young and brash, and Meera kisses the waiter holding a tray of triple chocolate cheesecake that she's finally managed to get her hands on.
> 
> This is the end of posting daily prompts — I'll still be working some up but trying to get this fic in a more expanded version to post. With some additional chapters that weren't in prompts and some revised prompt fills. I assume I will eventually catch up to myself, or not. At any rate, this is not the end of small town Westeros, it will return in some form! Soon!


End file.
